


Amiss

by prospective



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Betrayal, Coming of Age, Complicated Relationships, Developing Relationship, Drama, F/M, Friendship, Growing Up, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Era, Internal Conflict, Romance, Secret Identity, Slow Burn, Suspense, Trust, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2019-11-03 18:04:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17882621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prospective/pseuds/prospective
Summary: Young Peter Parker was enjoying a good night's sleep in his parent's house only to wake up to the Malfoy family, now apparently a wizard with super strength. Six years into the future, he realises that he hates Harry Potter. But why?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter nor Spider-Man.

Five-year-old Peter Parker's mom tucked him up in his bed and kissed him on the forehead. They had just said their goodnights, but he still asked her anyway.

"Can Dad tell me one of his joke stories tonight?"

"I'm sorry, but your dad is very busy right now." She pursed her lips in regret. "I can read you a book, if you'd like?"

"Okay," Peter said, though he couldn't help but feel disappointed.

He tried his best not to show it, but his mom knew him too well not to notice. She ruffled his hair and walked over to the bookshelf containing many of his children's books. Looking for something good, she tapped each one animatedly, making Peter laugh merrily at her theatrics.

She finally stopped her finger on one book and deftly slid it out. She spun around on her feet to face Peter, holding her choice out in front of her like a prize, grinning. Tadaa!

_The Giving Tree._

He smiled. It wasn't a funny story, but it was still one of his favourites. He closed his eyes and laid his head down comfortably on his pillow as his mother sat on a chair beside his bed. She began reading.

"Once there was a tree, and she loved a little boy..."

It didn't take long before he fell asleep with her sweet words in his ears.

_Her soft voice faltered and was replaced by a deeper one. He felt confused, but the jovial tone was warm and made him feel safe._

_"Mich... An...gelo!"_

_"Oh, Peter…" came an old, matronly voice._

_A beautiful face caught Peter's eyes. He raised his camera to take a picture of her, but before he was able to do so, intense pain coursed through his body. So much pain, in fact, that he thought he was going to wake up. But he didn't, couldn't._

_"You'll pay for that, Park...er…" said a different voice, followed by many more._

_"I don't want to fight you, Flash."_

_"I wouldn't want to fight me eith…"_

_"With great power… responsibility…"_

_BANG!_

_"No…" Peter cried as he hugged an old man's body. "Unc… B..."_

_Everything was happening too quickly. Limbs and strings tangled up in chaos. He heard the sound of bones cracking, guns shooting, and men screaming. It was too much for him._

_Suddenly, he was at peace. The wind blew against his face, and his stomach dropped in such a way that felt so familiar to him. He was at home._

_Aunt May. Oh, God, please not Aunt May._

_Then everything went black._

All Peter remembered when he woke up was a long yet dreamless sleep.

...

_BANG! BANG! BANG!_

_"Peter!" came his mom's voice. She sounded so distressed. "What have you done to my boy?"_

_"You bastard—!" His dad's cry was cut short by a hiss and a slashing sound, followed by a loud thump._

He opened his eyes and saw that he was in a different room, on a different bed. There was a different woman sitting on a different chair beside him. He first noticed her elegant gown, but as he trailed his eyes upward, he saw that she had a slim face with ice blue eyes. Her long blonde hair fell along her sides as she looked down on him. She raised an eyebrow when she realised he's awake.

"What's your name, boy?" she asked in a clear, cold voice.

Peter immediately tried to sit up, but he more like jumped out of bed. His muscles never felt so strong. He looked around the large white room decorated with silver and green furniture. He looked down at himself and saw the body of a five-year-old. What the fuck? Why was he so small? Why shouldn't he be? Since when did he start using the F-word?

"What?" was all that came out of his mouth.

"I asked you what your name is," she repeated. She spoke so differently that he could barely understand her.

"Uh, P—Peter."

"Well, Peter, I'm your mother now."


	2. The Letter

“Peter, stop slouching and look at the camera,” said Narcissa Malfoy to the right of Peter.

“But I’m hungry,” Peter complained. “I want to eat _now_.”

“You’ll get to eat as much as you want once we’re done with this family photo,” said Narcissa. “Merlin knows where all that food goes to.”

Draco Malfoy snickered to Peter’s left.

“Stop tittering and listen to your mother, Draco,” said Lucius Malfoy sternly. He was on the other side of Draco, his hands tightening on his son’s shoulder to assert his command.

_FLASH_!

“That’s good!” called the photographer from behind the camera, holding his thumbs up.

“Thank you,” said Narcissa.

The Malfoy family stepped away from the camera frame and the two children immediately headed for the dinner table.

As he walked, Peter ruffled his platinum blonde hair now that they were done with the photoshoot. It was magically dyed to look like a Malfoy’s, as was tradition when one enters the family.

“Gee, Pete,” drawled Draco, “just because it’s our birthday party that doesn’t mean you get to eat all of the food for everyone.”

Draco and Peter celebrated their birthdays together despite them being two months apart. The arrangement didn’t seem to bother the two, anyway. It wasn’t like the Malfoys were going to throw a separate party for their adopted child.

“At least you get to go to Hogwarts this year.”

“Oh, come on,” said Draco exasperatedly. “You’re still going on about that?”

“They serve buffet feasts _every day_!” Peter stressed. “Imagine all the food you can eat there.”

“ _That’s_ what you’re miffed about?” asked Draco, shaking his head. “You want to go to Hogwarts because they have more food there?”

“Better there than be stuck here with Dobby’s cooking,” said Peter making a face.

A sudden crack startled the two boys.

“Did Master Peter Malfoy call Dobby, sir?” asked their house elf.

“Piss off, Dobby,” said Peter suddenly.

“Get lost, elf!” ordered Draco.

“Sorry, Master Draco Malfoy, sir,” said Dobby. “Dobby will get lost now.” He disapparated with a crack.

“Stupid elf,” muttered Draco. “At least the elves in Hogwarts actually know how to do their job without being _seen_.”

As the two settled down their seats at the dinner table, Peter couldn’t help but feel uneasy with how they interacted with their house elf. It was how it’s always been, but something deep within Peter’s mind told him it was wrong.

Peter disregarded that thought right away, forcibly ignoring it. Ever since he was six, he had learned to suppress certain notions and urges that regularly come to him involuntarily. Urges such as—

“Can’t you believe I’m going in the same year as Harry Potter, though?” Draco mused. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

Peter’s mind suddenly clouded and he felt immensely relaxed. Then, a soft voice echoed within his head:  _Make Harry Potter’s life miserable_.

Peter shook his head violently. He suddenly felt cruel; he wanted to hurt someone in particular so badly. He despised the feeling, but it always washed over him anyway whenever he was reminded of the existence of the famous Boy-Who-Lived.

If there was one consolation Peter had on not going to Hogwarts the following school year, it was the fact that he won't be going to the same classes as Harry Potter.

“Right,” said Draco when he saw Peter’s repulsed expression. “You hate him. I can’t really blame you for that. He did kill the Dark Lord.”

“And he did so by accident,” said Peter before he caught himself. “He has nothing to be famous for.”

“You’re not wrong there,” said a squeaky voice from behind them.

“Hey, Pansy,” greeted Peter, happy to change the subject. “You look great.”

Pansy Parkinson did, in fact, look beautiful, with her green silk dress and her hair tied up in an elegant bun. It was only her hard, pug-looking face that left much to be desired.

Draco rolled his eyes as Pansy blushed. She sat down at the table across from the two boys, both of which wanting to leave at once.

“Thanks, Pete,” she replied. “You look good too.”

“Err, thanks,” said Peter. He purposely looked down at the appetizers set on the table, not wanting to make eye contact with the girl in front of him. “Enjoying the party so far?”

“Oh yes, Happy Birthday.”

“It’s actually Draco’s birthday today. Mine’s still in two months, we’re just sharing celebrations.”

“Well, Happy Birthday in advance, then,” said Pansy and then turned to Draco, “Happy Birthday to you too, Draco.”

“Thanks,” drawled Draco. “Are you still hungry, Pete? Let’s fly around the backyard a bit. My letter’s coming in soon, maybe we can snatch the owl mid-flight.”

“Erm,” said Peter reluctantly. He gave Pansy a sheepish smile as he stood up and then turned to Draco eagerly. “Sure.”

The two boys raced to the broomshed laughing, leaving Pansy alone to cross her arms and mutter, “Boys.”

“That girl just ruins your appetite, doesn’t she?” said Draco, panting. They reached the broomshed and were choosing which broomstick to ride.

Pater shrugged in response and held his Nimbus 1700, “Race you to the pitch?”

“On your count,” said Draco as he mounted his Comet 260.

“Where do you think you’re going?” asked their mother, who was blocking the exit door.

“Just over to the Quidditch pitch by the Bulstrodes,” begged Draco. “Please, it’s our birthday.”

“Your father explicitly told you not to leave the property until you get your letter.”

“What’s the point? It’s not like it’s going to disappear if I’m not there.”

“I suspect your father is expecting something to come with it, and he doesn’t want either of you gone when it arrives. Regardless, you two aren’t going anywhere.”

“ _Mother_ ,” Peter chimed in, “The Bulstrodes are closer to Hogwarts so the owl will probably pass us on the way there anyway. We could get Draco’s letter earlier!”

Peter put on his cute big-brown-doe-eyes look and Narcissa faltered, then sighed.

“All right, you two,” she said, resigned.

“Yay!” both boys cheered. “Thanks, Mother!”

Narcissa grabbed both of their arms and sternly said, “Don’t go past the river!” Then, in a softer voice, she added: “Have a good time.”

Peter and Draco shot off the ground on their brooms, speeding up to the sky, high within the clouds.

“Draco, look,” said Peter, who is now hanging on the broom with one hand as they zoomed above the forest trees.

“You’re absolutely mental, you know that?” said Draco, laughing.

Peter easily lifted himself up above the broom, and then stood on the shaft on two feet as if he was surfing. He straightened up proudly, and Draco hooted.

Peter then bent his knees to get low so that he can touch one hand to the broom and let his other arm trail behind his body. He always subconsciously did this pose for some reason, but he didn’t mind. It looked good on him.

He saw Draco cautiously shift on his broom, moving to match Peter’s position. Panic seized on his face.

“You don’t need to copy me, you know,” said Peter worriedly.

“Who said I am?” said Draco. He slowly lifted his right foot up to the top of his broom, but once he began to put his weight down on it, he slipped and fell off.

“Arrgghhh!” screamed Draco.

“ _Draco_!” yelled Peter. He grabbed his broom’s shaft tightly with one hand and forced it downwards towards his brother’s free-falling body.

He initially descended in a curve and prepared to intercept and catch, but once he saw that the ground was closing in at an alarming rate, he instead sped straight towards Draco.

“Arrrrrggghhhhhhaaaa!”

Peter forced the broom to go faster—but once he reached his brother, he missed the catch.

Hair behind his neck rose and he felt a tingling sensation behind his head. His instincts took over and he kicked his feet out just in time for it to barely touch Draco’s robes.

It stuck, and Peter let out a huge sigh of relief. He pulled the two of them up to his broom, both sitting properly this time, Draco behind Peter.

“Are you _insane_?” Peter called to his back as he led the broom at a halt on the flat, grassy ground.

They got off, Peter’s heart beating rapidly and Draco heaving for air.

“What in the world were you thinking?” Peter asked angrily.

“Hey, don’t get mad at me! You started it!” Draco snapped back. “How do you do that, anyway?”

For several seconds that followed, the only sound came from the rustling of grass and nearby trees as well as heavy breathing.

“Blimey,” Peter dropped to the grass on his back, his hands covering his face, “you scared me.”

Draco leaned forward and rested his hands on his bent knees, still trying to catch his breath.

“There goes my broom,” he said.

“The hell with the broom, you almost _died_!”

Another silence followed them, and then Draco slowly started chuckling.

“What so funny?” Peter raised his head to look up at Draco.

“You caught me with your feet.”

“So?”

“With your _feet_!” Draco emphasized.

Peter didn’t understand how that was so funny, but he soon started laughing as well anyway. At once, their laughter turned into howling and their bellies tightened around their stomach until they couldn’t breathe anymore.

Draco recovered first, and asked again, “How?”

“I don’t know,” said Peter dejectedly, his head dropping back to the grass. “I’ve just been able to do it ever since I first woke up in the manor; the morning I found out that I was a wizard and that… my muggle parents had sent me off in my sleep.”

Draco sat down beside Peter’s sprawled body. “Father said You-Know-Who’s temporary incarnation sent you. I don’t see why he would have a muggle—.”

“I know who my parents were, alright!” said Peter furiously, sitting up. “How is that so hard to believe?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Draco sarcastically, “Maybe the fact that You-Know-Who himself said you’re his heir? That the souls of the darkest wizards reside within you? That you will be the one to really bring him back?”

“I remember them _clearly_.”

“Just like how you remember their names, right?”

“I was five!” Peter sighed.

“He can’t have possibly chosen you if you were a mudblood. You’re not!”

“Not this again,” muttered Peter, rubbing his forehead.

“Think about it! You’re the champion of the purebloods. You must be the Heir of Slytherin. You _are_ a parselmouth, after all.”

“Let’s just go,” said Peter, standing up.

“Why do you keep denying it?” said Draco. “You should be proud of yourself.”

“I said let’s go!” said Peter louder. “We gotta get back home before your Hogwarts letter gets there.”

Peter walked to where he left his broom and picked it up.

“Speaking of which,” said Draco looking up.

Peter followed Draco’s line of sight and saw a brown owl carrying an envelope flying high across the sky above them.

“Let’s catch it!” said Draco as he excitedly ran towards Peter without dropping his gaze from the post owl.

“Come on, then!” said Peter fervently.

They swiftly mounted the Nimbus 1700 and shot up straight for the bird. The two playfully tried to snatch either it or its mail, but it kept dodging.

They chased after the owl all the way back to Malfoy Manor until it slipped past an open window.

Peter veered off and landed next to the broomshed and hung his broom haphazardly. Draco had already bolted inside the house to see his letter.

Peter followed in and saw that there were a lot more visitors than when they had left. Averys, Bulstrodes, Carrows, Notts, and many other pureblood families were walking around the Malfoy residence. He greeted witches and wizards of all ages as they talked and mingled with each other.

“Well then, here’s the secret child,” said a lanky old man. He regarded Peter by patting his back

“Morning, Mr Flint,” greeted Peter politely. “How’s the party?”

“Very well, thanks for asking.”

With a nod, Peter continued his walk towards the living room. Once he reached the entrance from the hallway, he noticed that everyone inside had all gone silent.

He scanned the room and found his mother with a questioning eyebrow raised at him and his father with an enigmatic look on his face. The soft tingling around Peter’s head told him this can’t be good.

_What’s going on_?

He looked to the couch behind his parents and sure enough, sitting there was Draco, reading his Hogwarts letter.

Except he wasn’t. Not exactly. He was holding two letters, one on each hand.

“Peter,” said Draco quietly as he looked up at him, “you’re going to Hogwarts as well?”


	3. The Hogwarts Express

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to clarify that this won’t be a Malfoy centred story. Once Peter gets to Hogwarts, we’ll start to see more of the main canon characters.  
> Also, since this is a “what if” crossover story, it might seem canon compliant at the beginning. BUT, as the story progresses and more things are changed, we shall depart from the original and see new adventures.

“You’re going to Hogwarts as well?”

“What?” asked Peter incredulously. “How is that possible? I’m born after July.”

“Apparently not,” said Draco, “according to this letter.”

Narcissa turned to her husband and asked, “What could this mean?”

Lucius looked up from his rumination and stared at Peter mysteriously.

Peter couldn’t help but shift uncomfortably on his feet. He never had a close relationship with his father, and throughout his time since he woke up into the Malfoy family, Lucius had been the only one not to accept him.

Surprising even himself, Peter stared back defiantly, getting him a raised eyebrow from his father, who then turned to his wife. Peter felt his face heat up and looked down to stare at his feet.

“Allow me to take care of this,” Lucius said, standing up slowly and walking towards their fireplace. In a gulf of green flame, Lucius was gone.

“Wow,” Draco whispered. Then, in a louder voice: “You’re going to Hogwarts with me!”

Comprehension finally dawned on Peter, and his face lit up with a huge smile. “I’m in the same year as you!”

Suddenly, another realization dawned on Peter, and this time it made the blood drain from his face. _I’m in the same year as Harry Potter._

_Oh._

Peter frowned and shook his head, trying to resist the cloud from forming in his head.

“Now, now.” Narcissa smiled apologetically at Peter. “Your father will likely be talking to Dumbledore to see if there was indeed an error. Don’t get too excited yet.”

Peter huffed in faux frustration and Draco whined, but their birthday celebration continued on a happier note for the rest of that day.

-oOo-

Lucius despised Hogwarts. He had spent enough time on this wretched place for a lifetime. Normally, he would send one of his subordinates if a business regarding Hogwarts was due, but this one in particular involved a Malfoy.

As much as he refused to accept Peter as his own child, he still bore his family name. It would not do to have a Malfoy receive such an oversight from one of the most prestigious wizarding school on Britain.

That’s why Lucius found himself being escorted to the headmaster’s office by the old, frail-looking squib, Argus Filch: the Hogwarts caretaker. _Oh, how deep into the gutter this school had gone_.

In any case, that was far from Lucius’ main concern at the moment. He tried to think of the many possible reasons why Peter was suddenly being sent to Hogwarts this year. He couldn’t shake the dreadful notion that it had something to do with the day of Peter’s delivery five years ago.

His master’s abrupt visit.

Too abrupt, in fact, that he didn’t even get to hear the last of his master’s words before he and the body carrying him started to scream in pain and disappeared in a green light.

From the little that he heard, he assumed it had to something do with Alabama.

Lucius had sent some spies around the place, but they returned sooner than he would’ve liked.

“The people living there are weird, sir. Wizards and muggles alike. I would rather gouge my eyes out than go back there,” a servant had said.

Lucius was tempted to do just as much, but he figured it would only be to no avail. His master didn’t seem to think it was urgent, anyway. He had figured that it was where the boy came from and was proven correct with the boy’s foreign accent that had persisted several months.

A cat’s meowing brought him back to the present.

The caretaker walked slowly ahead of Lucius, occasionally giving him suspicious glances from over the shoulder. Lucius tried not to sigh or roll his eyes every time the frail man did so.

They finally reached the gargoyle that opened to the spiral staircase, leading up to the headmaster’s office. Lucius entered promptly and slammed the door shut before the caretaker got the chance to speak or step in.

“Lucius,” said Dumbledore from behind his desk. “What brings you here in this fine June morning?”

Lucius took a few breaths to regain his composure, which he almost lost from the indignities of being guided by Argus Filch.

Dumbledore asked him once more: “Can I help you with anything?”

“My son, Peter Malfoy, received a Hogwarts letter today, despite the fact that he doesn’t turn eleven for another two months.”

“Ah, I’m sure you’re aware that families with children of the same year will receive all necessary letters concurrently in order to save our owls from the extra work?”

“Yes, I’m aware of that, but—I’m sure I would know the years my sons would be attending Hogwarts.”

“I’m not sure what you’re trying to say, Lucius.”

“What I’m saying is that Peter’s birthday is on the 10th of August, well past the range of Draco’s school year.”

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows and furrowed it. “Well, that can’t be right.”

The headmaster summoned a folder from a cabinet beside him and flipped through its contents of papers. His hands stopped and looked down at the document in front of him briefly, appearing pensive, before closing the folder shut. He swiftly looked up at Lucius.

“According to our records, your son was born in late July. Perhaps there were some errors made on the papers during the adoption process, or maybe they were somehow delayed in printing. It would make sense, considering he’s likely from a muggle family.”

“My son is _not_ a mudblood,” said Lucius coldly, though even he wasn’t sure of that. “I would like to see the records for myself.”

“I believe I can’t do that,” said Dumbledore. He levitated the folder back to the filing cabinet and locked it. “Students family confidentiality and all. I’m sure you’d understand.”

“He is my son!”

“Your adopted son.”

Lucius sneered, “I won’t be forgetting how you denied me this time, Dumbledore.”

“I hope for your forgiveness,” said Dumbledore pleasantly, though Lucius noticed his eyes looked dark. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I was in the middle of something. It was a pleasure to see you again, Lucius.”

Lucius spun around and walked briskly out the door. It wasn’t until he got back home did he realise that he never got around to asking for the exact date of his son’s birthday.

-oOo-

The train whistle blew, indicating that it was ready to start for Hogwarts.

“Do well in school, you two,” said Narcissa firmly She was dressed elegantly, her motherly side eclipsed by the aristocratic persona she always showed in public.

“Of course, Mother,” drawled Draco.

Peter merely nodded. He had been growing apprehensive of going to Hogwarts ever since his father had dragged him aside and gave him the talk about his true purpose in the Malfoy family.

_“You already know that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named sent you to us those many years ago... when he saw how badly your parents... treated you. What we haven’t told you is that he assigned us to prepare you for a mission you’ve been chosen to be responsible for._

_“I was going to talk to you about it once Draco had gone to Hogwarts; to prepare you for what’s to come and what you must do. Circumstances forced my plans to be changed, so I will try to make this talk brief with you._

_“You will make Harry Potter’s life miserable, no matter the lengths you have to take to do so...”_

Those familiar words had made Peter flinch. The tingling sensation did not mix well with the cloud of tranquillity he suddenly felt. It sent a chill down Peter’s spine, and it took him all he could just to not shake compulsively.

Peter closed his eyes shut at the memory, feeling conflicted, scared. He knew Harry Potter was an enemy; a weapon of the mudbloods and the blood traitors. The boy had taken away the wizarding world’s only hope for purity and survival. He must pay for his actions.

Yet, Peter didn’t understand why they found it necessary for _him_ to be the one to carry out this particular mission. Why not just let Draco do it? He seemed to be more willing to do it.

All further ruminations were set aside as Peter laid eyes on the beautiful Daphne Greengrass, already aboard the train, talking to a few other pureblood children. She looked out through the window and her face lit up in surprise when she caught sight of him.

She waved. He waved back.

Putting on a smug face, Peter said his farewell to his parents and strode towards the train and into Daphne’s compartment. Draco strutted right beside him.

They slid the compartment door open and all the kids inside turned their heads to them. Vincent and Gregory were sitting across from Daphne and Pansy.

“How’re my soon-to-be Slytherins doing?” Draco asked them all.

“Hey, Draco. H—Peter?”

“Peter!”

“Peter, you came!”

“You really _are_ going to Hogwarts with us, huh?”

“Gee, guys,” said Peter. “Don’t let me steal Draco’s thunder.”

“We already knew Draco’s going with us, though.”

“Yeah, we didn’t know you were actually coming as well.”

“You were literally at our party when we announced it, you idiot,” said Draco.

“Whatever.” Peter sat down next to Daphne.

“Hey, Pete,” she said breathily.

“Hey, Daphne.”

-oOo-

"Hey, Ron."

The Weasley twins were back.

"Listen, we're going down the middle of the train—Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula down there."

"Right," mumbled Ron.

"Harry," said the other twin, "did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. This is Ron, our brother.”

Harry nodded to each of them.

“See you later, then,” said the twins synchronously.

"Bye," said Harry and Ron. The twins slid the compartment door shut behind them.

"Are you really Harry Potter?" Ron blurted out.

Harry nodded.

"Oh, well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George's jokes," said Ron. "And have you really got—you know..."

He pointed at Harry's forehead.

Harry pulled back his bangs to show the lightning scar he’s had since he can remember. Ron stared at it.

Their compartment door suddenly slid open again, and two boys their age entered. One was rather pale and skinny while the other one looked more toned.

Due to their silvery hair, Harry recognized them at once. They were the boys from Madam Malkin's robe shop, though the pale one was now looking at Harry with a lot more interest than he’d shown back in Diagon Alley.

The other one looked meaner. His arms were crossed and his chin high up, trying to look intimidating.

"Is it true?" the pale boy said. "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, then, isn’t it?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"We’re the Malfoys," he replied carelessly. "I’m Draco and this is my brother, Peter."

Ron gave a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigger. Both boys looked at him.

“Something caught in your throat, darling?” snarked Peter Malfoy.

"Think our name's funny, do you?” Draco Malfoy added, “No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

Peter turned to Harry. “You must be a little underwhelmed with how few your fans are these days, aren’t you? I guess your relevance has run out. Now you have to resort to this muggle-lover just to feel better about yourself.”

Shifting his attention back to Ron, he said: “You’ll soon find out that some people don’t deserve to be admired, Weasley. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

He held out his hand to shake Ron’s, but Ron didn't take it.

Peter raised his eyebrows. “You’re one of us, Weasley. Make the right choices and perhaps you’ll do better in life than the rest of your family have so far.”

Suddenly, Ron lost the ability to make eye contact. “If you’re trying to get me to join the dark side, count me out, Malfoy.”

“Then I'd be careful if I were you," Peter said slowly. "Sooner or later, you'll find yourself wishing today had gone differently. You continue to hang around with your glorified hero, and you’ll suffer the same fate as his parents did."

Harry stood up instantly.

"You take that back," Harry said, feeling his face grow hot.

"Oh, you're going to fight us, are you?" Draco sneered.

"Unless you get out now," said Harry, more bravely than he felt.

“What if we don’t want to?” said Peter, stepping forward to face Harry directly.

Harry stared into Peter’s eyes, and all he saw was pure malice. _What did I do to this boy?_

Suddenly, they heard footsteps outside. A bushy-brown-haired girl and a round-faced boy peeked their heads into the compartment.

"What’s going on here?" the girl said, looking at the four boys. Her eyes lingered on Peter, then on Harry, before saying in a bossy voice: “Well, if you’re done fighting. Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one.”

“My brother and I can help you look for it,” Peter offered suavely.

“I haven’t seen you before,” interrupted Draco. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Hermione Granger.”

“You must be a mudblood, then,” said Draco in disgust.

“Hey!” yelled Ron, now standing up as well.

“Back off, Weasley,” sneered Draco.

Harry looked around, incredulous to what got Ron so agitated. Judging from the others’ reactions, nothing seemed amiss. Except for Neville, that is, who had backed up substantially, looking frightened at the whole commotion.

To Harry’s surprise, Peter stepped in between the two and leaned towards Draco’s ear, whispering: “Let’s get out of here.”

Draco glanced at everyone else morosely before backing up and leading the way out. Peter gave Harry one last venomous look before following suit and sliding the compartment door shut behind him.

“What was that?” asked Harry to Ron.

“ _Ahem_.” The bushy-brown-haired girl named Hermione cleared her throat to gain back their attention. They had completely forgotten about her.

Ron turned to Hermione. "Can we help you with something?"

“I was just asking if you’ve seen Neville’s toad,” said Hermione, crossing her arms.

"I’m sure he'll turn up," was all Harry said.

Hermione harrumphed frustratedly and said, “Never mind. Trevor’s not here, Neville.”

"Well, if you see him..." Neville said to the boys before walking out of the compartment with the girl.

"You've met the Malfoys before?" asked Ron right away.

Harry explained about their meeting in Diagon Alley.

"I've heard of their family," said Ron. "They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched..."

For a while, no sound was made except for the train engine and the wind blowing across the vast British landscape. Harry looked at Ron, who was now oddly quiet, peering out the window and looking deep in thought.

Harry looked out as well, mystified at everything that just happened. He found Ron interesting, considering the fact that he lived within the wizarding world for all his life.

The Malfoys seemed like the kinds of people he would want to avoid. He learned early on in life that people like Dudley were not worth wasting his time on, and they were just like him.

“Hogwarts, huh?” said Harry finally.

Ron replied with a grunt. “I guess so.”

-oOo-

Peter stormed off into the train’s toilet room just as they left Harry Potter’s compartment. He ignored Draco’s concerned calls and slammed the door shut.

_Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you._

Fuck who? Peter wasn’t sure anymore. He staggered his way to the mirror and heaved heavily as he hazily stared at himself in the mirror.

He closed his eyes shut and waited for the cloud in his head to dissipate.

Once it cleared, Peter looked at his ragged reflection again.

“Fuck you,” he said quietly to himself.


	4. The Houses

“Longbottom, Neville,” called Minerva McGonagall.

“GRYFFINDOR!”

“MacDougal, Morag.”

“RAVENCLAW!”

“Malfoy, Draco!”

The hat had barely touched the boy’s head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"

Minerva glanced down on the long parchment listing the names of the first-years and, after a long breath, looked back up at the crowd of children yet to be sorted.

“Malfoy, Peter!”

Slowly, the other boy made his way to the stool and plopped himself down. Unlike the first Malfoy, it stayed on him for a while.

A long while.

Truly, it had been unsettling when Albus urgently called her and Severus to his office that morning three months ago. He expressed his concerns about a boy named Peter Malfoy, the adopted child of a rich and old pureblood wizarding family. She knew then that it wasn’t good news. Albus had tried to put on a calm facade, but Minerva could easily see how troubled he looked.

He informed the two professors that the boy will be coming to Hogwarts the following school year, and had earnestly requested for them to always keep an eye on him. He didn’t give any reason or explanation why, but since it was only her and Severus that was told about this, she eerily suspected it had something to do with the Order.

As time went on with the boy being under the hat, Minerva noticed his fists tightening.

It was several moments later when the Sorting Hat finally shouted.

“GRYFFINDOR!”

The boy’s hand shot up to grab the hat and flung it across the Great Hall, hitting the wall at the other end, hard.

Everyone in the hall froze in shock. The boy slid off the stool, slumped, looking angry and defeated.

He walked towards the Gryffindor table, though no one cheered at first. It was only after Albus’ slow clapping, followed shortly by Minerva’s, that everyone in the hall remembered their courtesy. Still, the applause from the Gryffindor table appeared reluctant.

Ever since Hogwarts came to be, no Malfoy had ever been sorted into anywhere other than Slytherin, much less into the rival house.

Minerva didn’t miss the cold glance the boy gave Harry Potter as he trudged past the remaining line of First Years. One sideway-look to Albus and she knew he noticed it as well. The twinkle in the headmaster’s eyes was nowhere to be seen.

-oOo-

Peter pouted and peeked over the mountain of mashed potatoes which he had stacked on his plate in order to hide his face.

The Gryffindors had welcomed him hesitantly but he pointedly ignored them. They seemed to have gotten the hint and, once Harry Potter got sorted into the same house, they shifted their attention towards the Boy Who Lived.

He sat alone. _This is going to be a long night._

He looked over to the Slytherin table and found Draco Malfoy facing him and holding his arms out to his sides incredulously, mouthing the words, “ _What are you doing_?”

Peter raised his shoulders and screwed his face. “ _I don’t know_!”

Draco threw his hands up in exasperation and dropped them sharply to his sides, turning his back on Peter and shoving a treacle tart into his mouth.

Peter scowled. _It wasn’t my fault I was sorted into the wrong house._

The stupid Sorting Hat had insisted that nothing good will come out of him getting sorted into Slytherin. Apparently, he was neither cunning nor ambitious enough to be in the house. Peter insisted to be sorted anyway, but deep down, he knew the Hat was right. And he hated himself for it. No doubt his incompetence will be seen as betrayal back at home.

He scanned the table and didn’t recognise a single friend. All of them were sorted into Slytherin.

He made sure to keep his head turned away from Harry Potter’s direction, since the urge to physically hurt him was very strong at the moment.

Thus, he found himself facing a girl to his left. She had been giving him suspicious glances during the whole feast while she talked about _Hogwarts, A History_ to Longbottom, so he was starting to feel uncomfortable.

Peter raised his eyebrows at her, and at that, she glared at him. He forced himself to give her a nonchalant wink to throw her off, and she quickly looked down at her food. He smirked and inwardly patted himself on the back. _Works every single time_.

Suddenly, he recognised her as the bushy-haired girl he met on the train. She seemed to have taken an interest in Harry, so he felt the urge to have her for himself. He was pretty sure he would have been successful had Draco not insulted her.

Though he felt repulsed when he realised she was a mudblood, he thought she looked decent and proper enough. It wasn’t as if he was actually going to befriend her, anyway.

(“Who’s that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?” Harry asked someone from behind.)

Perhaps he’ll just have to try again, he thought. He should properly introduce himself this time.

“Hermione Granger, right?” He almost held a hand out to shake hers, but he instantly brought it back. “I’m Peter Malfoy.”

“Pleasure,” she said haughtily, keeping her eyes on her food.

“And you’re Neville Longbottom,” Peter said to the boy across from her, “the one who lost his familiar.”

Neville raised one hand from under the table to reveal a toad. “Found him earlier by the lake.”

“No thanks to you,” Hermione added.

“Oh, yeah, sorry about that,” Peter said. “I really wanted to help, but my brother and I were in the middle of something.”

“Right.” She raised her chin up. “In the middle of causing trouble?”

“We didn’t start the fight, you know,” Peter tried to explain. “I mean, there wasn’t really any fight. We just wanted to introduce ourselves and they were being rude.”

She finally took another look at Peter, then to the students over his shoulder. She opened her mouth as if she was about to say something, but the hall suddenly fell silent, cutting her off.

“Ahem.” The headmaster had stood up. “Just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.” He smiled indulgently. “First years should note that…”

The end-of-feast speech went on for a while, but Peter later found himself being led out of the Great Hall and into the Gryffindor common room. He didn’t get to see his brother or his friends for the rest of the night.

Peter was going to say goodnight to Hermione before he retired to the boy’s dormitory, but she was already nowhere to be found. Neville had also gone straight to bed, along with the rest of the first years.

Peter looked around the crimson and gold common room, not really recognising any face. He sighed as he trudged his way to the dorm and changed into his pyjamas. He threw himself face first to the only empty poster bed left.

He turned his head to his head and saw the lying figure of a boy with wild dark hair.

Another wave of euphoria surged through him, causing a smile to form on his face for the first time since he came to Hogwarts.

_Who says I’m not a Slytherin?_

-oOo-

“AAAAHHH!”

“What—wha—AHHHHH!”

“Ngh. Mmh. AHHHH!”

Peter held his pillow tighter against his face, trying to hide his snicker. He heard his dorm mates scramble their way out of their beds.

“What the bloody hell’s your face doing all over my bed?” a high voice said.

“For a second there I thought you were about to molest me,” said someone with a heavy Irish accent, laughing uneasily.

The high voice chortled, “Harry Potter. Gonna mol—”

“That’s not me!” exclaimed Potter.

“Of course, they are. There’re your scar and glasses and everything.”

“No, I mean it wasn’t me who did that!”

“Who did it, then?” came Weasley’s voice.

Everyone went silent and Peter could now feel their eyes looking at his direction. He forced himself to stop laughing as he heard his curtain roll aside and a hand shook his shoulder.

Peter groggily pushed the pillow away from his face and slowly opened his eyes. He looked around and saw five heads staring down at him. Well, five if you didn’t count the huge likeness of Harry Potter’s face sewn on the roof of his poster bed, as well as the several ones on each curtain... and bedding.

“Ahhhh!” Peter feigned shock. “What the—”

“Did you do this?” Harry asked menacingly.

“Why in the world would I do this?” Peter spat back.

“Then who did?”

“I don’t know, you, probably? We get it, Potter. You’re famous. You don’t need to shove your face to us any more than you already are.”

“I know it’s you, Malfoy.” Harry leaned forward to tower over Peter. Peter sat up and pushed him to the floor.

“Hey!” Ron said, helping Harry up.

Peter got up from his bed and walked over to the two.

“Cut it out, Malfoy,” Thomas said as he and Finnigan tried to hold him back. Peter just continued forward and stopped right in front of Harry’s face.

Ron stepped in between them and pushed Peter with all his weight. “Back off Malfoy!”

Peter let himself be nudged back to review the situation.

_Really? Four on one?_ He just noticed that Neville was nowhere to be seen. _Whatever_. Peter knew he could easily take them on, so he chuckled.

“Are you sure you guys are wizards?” he asked. “Because I’m not seeing any of your wands out.”

He pulled his wand out from his pyjama pocket and pointed it at Harry Potter. He grinned at their frightened faces.

He taunted, “The Boy Who Li—”

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?” a shrill voice cut through the room.

Peter’s wand popped out if his hand and flew towards the door. All heads turned towards it, revealing a very angry Professor McGonagall.

“It was Malfoy, Professor!” said Ron immediately.

“No, it wasn’t!” Peter argued.

“You pushed Harry first!”

“He cornered me in my bed!”

“That’s enough!” said Professor McGonagall sternly. “Your classes haven’t even started yet and you’re already fighting each other.” She spun her head back to look behind her. “Mr Longbottom, would you care to explain to me what happened here.”

Neville reluctantly stepped into the room and said in a quiet voice: “Erm, well, I woke up... and I saw Harry’s face all over my bed... and I sort of screamed.”

The professor raised an eyebrow.

Neville fidgeted with his hands and continued, “Then everyone woke up and started screaming as well.”

He led the professor to show everyone’s beds as Peter and Harry continued to glare at each other.

“Whoever did this,” said Professor McGonagall, arms crossed, “certainly has a talent for weaving. If I see this happen one more time, I hope they’re considering it as a career prospect because they will not be coming back to this school. Is that understood?”

Everyone nodded in varying degrees of compliance.

“The five of you will have detention with me for the rest of the week,” she said, giving everyone involved in the scuffle a strict look. “And ten points each from Gryffindor. Fifteen points to Mr Longbottom for coming to me before this escalated _any further_.”

She pointedly looked at Peter. “Mr Malfoy, with me to the headmaster’s office.”

_What about Potter!_ “Yes, professor,” Peter grumbled. _So much for making his life miserable._

Peter shook his head as he followed Gryffindor Head of House out of the dormitory. His mind cleared once they exited the common room and began their long trip to the headmaster’s office.

After a few minutes of walking in silence, Peter admitted: “It was me, Professor. I knitted Potter’s face all over everyone’s beds.

“I was aware.”

Peter looked up at the professor. Her face looked slightly softer now that the tension was gone.

She pulled a yarn ball from her pocket and said, “I summoned this from under your bed.”

_Damn, Mother never did that_.

“Now, I hope you’ve learned your lesson to not violate your roommates’ privacy in the midst of your silly little pranks? I will be expecting better behaviour from you from now on.”

“Er, yes, professor,” Peter said faintly. “It was just a prank.”

At once, they reached a gargoyle and Professor McGonagall whispered a password. She gestured for Peter to enter.

Peter kept his head down as he stepped onto the spiral staircase leading to the headmaster’s office. He didn’t even realise they reached their destination when Professor McGonagall knocked on the wooden door and they entered the waiting room. She told Peter to wait there before leaving him all by himself.

Peter looked around the large, circular room, filled with various silver magical instruments. It reminded him of one of the guest rooms in Malfoy Manor. Particularly, the room he was in when he first roused as a Malfoy instead of a… a Par… Parkinson? No, he was certainly _not_ related to Pansy. He woke up to a completely new environment. It was too unfamiliar for him to be related to any wizard in Britain.

Everyone’s accents were so odd to him back then, as if everyone else forgot how to speak properly all of a sudden. He first woke up to his mother’s pretty face, though for some reason he thought she didn’t look that much older than him at first. He felt like he was trapped in a smaller body, and he still felt like it sometimes.

His now-brother, Draco, was dragged into the room soon after his waking up. The pale boy had snubbed him at first, but they soon grew to be the closest of friends. Peter smiled at the memory of Draco letting him ride his toy broom for the first time not long after that day.

“Hello, Peter.”

The headmaster’s friendly voice ended Peter’s musings. He didn’t look too impressive for being one of the most powerful wizards alive. Peter didn’t expect much anyway. His father had regularly stated that he was just an old senile man way past his prime.

“Professor Dumbledore,” Peter said curtly.

Dumbledore smiled as he conjured a stool and sat down on it, motioning for Peter to sit on the couch from across a little coffee table. Peter plopped himself down on it, not taking his eyes off of the old man. Dumbledore waved his hand towards a jar of sweets on the table, and Peter took one. He began unwrapping it as Dumbledore started to talk.

“I understand it must have been a hard first night for you, feeling like you were sorted into the wrong house. You might feel that you’ve betrayed your friends and family.”

“I don’t belong in Gryffindor,” Peter said as he stared at the unwrapped candy between his fingers.

“If you didn’t belong to Gryffindor,” said Dumbledore, looking to the side, “the Sorting Hat would not have placed you there.”

Peter followed his gaze and saw a sleeping Sorting Hat on top of a shelf. He pleaded, “Can I please be re-sorted?”

“I don’t think that would be necessary, Peter.”

“But I have no friends there,” Peter looked up, his eyes starting to moisten. “All of them are in Slytherin. Well, except for Roger—he’s a third year in Ravenclaw. I’m sure I’ll do good in Ravenclaw at least—better, even. I’m smart! Please, headmaster.”

Dumbledore chuckled indulgently and placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “You’re confusing the houses as a personality trait, though I can’t blame you for that. It’s a common misconception.”

Peter scoffed and pushed Dumbledore’s hand away. He resumed staring at the candy in his hand.

“When you first learned about magic, what did you think about it?” Dumbledore asked.

“I dunno,” Peter mumbled. “I suppose I felt powerful.”

“Did you feel the need to explore that power?”

“Er, sort of, but I didn’t have a wand until a few months ago.”

Dumbledore leaned forward. “Did you want to share it with others?”

“What do you mean?” Peter leaned back.

“Or did you want to keep it for yourself?”

“I don’t see why I would have to; everyone I know has their own magic.”

“Do you feel like you need to use it do good? To stand up for what is right?”

A chill went down Peter’s spine at those words. Words that struck a chord in him. Words that felt so comforting, yet so tragic at the same time. It wasn’t the euphoric sensation he felt whenever he heard Harry Potter’s name, nor was it the tingling sensation whenever he felt like he was in danger. It was a guiding sensation that brought a certain loss along with it. Like a small light in a long tunnel of darkness, though where the darkness came from, he didn’t know or understand.

He knew he had a decent childhood, even from the little he remembered from before he had magic. Everything was sunshine and rainbows for him. So why did he feel darkness somewhere?

“With great power comes great responsibility,” Peter whispered. Where in the bloody hell did he hear that from?

Dumbledore calmly retreated into his chair and picked a candy from the candy jar. “That’s an interesting way of putting it.” He popped it into his mouth and smiled brightly at Peter.

Peter glanced down at the unwrapped candy in his own hand once again and finally ate it, albeit reluctantly. He grimaced at the aggressive taste of sweet and sour.

“The Sorting Hat chooses for a reason,” Dumbledore said. “If you were sorted into Gryffindor, then it knows you’ll do best in it.”

“How does it know that?”

“Because you value courage more than you seek power.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “And you _know_ you’re very powerful.”

Peter scowled. “The hat told you that, didn’t it,” he said resentfully.

“It didn’t need to.”

Peter took a deep breath. “I’m the only one in my family to be ever put in Gryffindor.”

“That is true, but you weren’t the first from a family of Slytherins. I’ve witnessed a similar situation myself not too long ago, in fact.” Dumbledore looked down to the floor. “It’s just for you to decide how you will turn out in the end. You and no one else. I can only hope that you do good, my boy.”

Peter did too.


	5. Class

****Peter entered the Great Hall by himself and looked around. It was still filling up with students who just woke up. Expecting a good turn to his stressful morning, he made his way to where his brother was sitting.

“Hey, Draco,” Peter called.

Draco lifted his head from his breakfast to acknowledge Peter, but almost immediately a student from an older year stepped in between them.

“What do you think you’re doing here?”

Peter realised then how much he stood out being the only one with a red scarf in a sea of green. He sighed. “Sitting with my brother.”

“You’re not allowed, Gryffindor.”

“Says who?” Peter stood taller to meet the older student’s height. He never hesitated on taking things physically if he had to. He was certain he was stronger than everyone.

“Says me,” came a deeper voice.

Peter turned around to a prefect badge, pinned to Marcus Flint’s chest. He stared blankly up at the fifth year, thinking why he, of all people, would be telling him off. Despite their age difference, Peter considered Marcus to be a close friend.

Having no words come to him at the moment, he merely frowned as a response.

“Need I say more and extend your detention?”

“Nah,” Pater said disdainfully. Stepping backwards, he muttered under his breath: “Whatever.”

He glanced towards Draco’s direction, who was now snickering along with the students who overheard the altercation. Peter gave him a look and Draco merely shrugged, not unlike how Peter did at the feast last night.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Walk away, kid.”

Taunts and insults were thrown at Peter as he turned and walked brusquely to the other end of the Great Hall, towards the Gryffindor table. He didn’t know what to think, he was just ready to disappear at this point.

He walked on soberly and stopped next to where Neville was sitting.

“Hey, Neville,” he greeted, almost pleading for a friend. “I _can_ call you Neville, right?”

“Only if we can call you Peter,” interrupted an older redhead from behind him.

“We heard what you did this morning!” said another, identical to the first one.

“Genius, you are! Harry Potter’s face on everyone's beds! What an idea!” The redhead slapped Peter hardly on the back. “I’m Fred, by the way, and this is my brother, George.”

“Great, more Weasleys,” Peter muttered, causing the twins to start howling in laughter as they staggered their way towards the other end of the Gryffindor table.

“Now that the blood traitors are away.” Peter grinned and dropped himself to the seat next to Neville. He waited for a reply, but when it didn't come, he began to feel awkward.

Oh, right. His parents were tortured by Death Eaters. Crap. What should he say? He should apologise… or he could change the topic quickly.

He looked at Neville's head. “Nice hat.”

“That’s my hair,” Neville said.

Peter chuckled uneasily. “I know, I was kidding,” Peter nudged Neville’s arms with his elbows. _Does this kid not laugh at all? Does he even find anything funny?_

Peter was slowly starting to want to get up and sit with the Weasley twins. He looked to where they were eating and saw nothing but flying mashed potatoes and spoons being shoved up a poor second year's nose. Never mind.

Perhaps he should just move to an empty space in the table. At least there he’ll be alone, so he won’t feel the pressure to keep up a conversation.

Surprisingly, Neville spoke again. “Ron said I shouldn’t talk to you if I don’t want to be their enemy.”

Peter raised his eyebrows.

He’s their _enemy_ now, huh? The redhead moves fast, it seems. He won’t have a problem with that. In fact, at least now he won’t feel as guilty whenever he feels the urge to hurt Harry.

The chatter within the Great Hall was dampened in his ears and he realised how long of a morning it had been for him.

“You know, when they say that to you, they’re branding you as a possible threat,” Peter said as he piled his plate with food. “They’re _blackmailing_ you.”

Neville hiccupped.

“They don’t see you as a friend. They’ll never be your friends.” Peter stopped moving to stare into Neville’s eyes. “ _I_ am your friend. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. You _are_ , aren’t you?”

Neville was too unsure to give a proper reply. Quite frankly, even Peter doubted himself. This sucks. Everything about this sucks. Ever since he stepped foot into this castle, nothing good has happened. Why did he have to be in Gryffindor?

-oOo-

Their first class of that day was Transfiguration with the Hufflepuffs, but this did nothing to help his mood. By the end of the class, no one but Hermione Granger was successful at turning a match into a needle.

Charms class wasn’t any better, either. Their little teacher showed them the incantation and wand movement in order to levitate a feather, but, yet again, only Hermione was able to lift it off the table.

Peter had to admit that he was impressed. He congratulated Hermione and involuntarily patted her on the back, only to recoil his hands immediately at the touch of her bushy hair. Thankfully, she didn’t notice this because Ron decided to start complaining loudly about how the professors are just telling them what to do rather than showing them how to do it. The majority of the class agreed with his statement, to Hermione’s ire.

Despite doing the best in all classes and earning the most points so far, every Gryffindor shunned her. What a great house this was.

He sat with Neville again after lunch, though their conversation this time was next to nonexistent. He was slightly disappointed that he couldn’t find Hermione anywhere in the Great Hall.

As he entered Potions class, Peter saw her sitting all by herself and felt inclined to join her. He quickly changed his mind, however, when he found out that they were finally paired with the Slytherins.

He caught eye contact with Daphne, who looked away almost immediately. All heads of the other Slytherins turned towards him as a result, all giving him dirty looks. Peter focused his eyes on Draco, who was sprawled on his seat, and with every step towards them, the room got quieter and quieter.

“I’m sitting with you guys,” Peter declared.

Vincent snorted and was about to say something, but Draco gave him a mean stare. He looked around the room and cleared his throat, slowly sitting up straight.

“Of course, Pete.” Draco then sneered at Vincent and Gregory. “What are you doing, idiots? Move and let my brother sit.”

Peter sat down in between the two, a familiar sitting arrangement between the six childhood friends. Nothing felt right this time, though. Daphne was deliberately not looking at him; even Pansy refused to give him any notice. He had never seen Draco looking more uncomfortable around him than now.

Snape finally entered the classroom, looking strangely at Peter as he walked past their table. Peter was afraid he was going to be forced to move again, but to his relief, Harry Potter caught the professor’s attention.

“Ah, yes,” he said softly. “Mr Potter, our new—celebrity.”

Quiet sniggers spread from the Slytherins’ side of the room. Peter willfully joined in. He met Draco’s eyes and saw a glint of familiarity between them. They were laughing at someone else’s expense, but that didn’t matter to him. Harry Potter was his enemy now, and he wanted his brother back.

Silence fell just as quickly as it started when Snape loudly flapped his robes and turned around to face the chalkboard, writing down the class introduction.

“Draco,” Peter whispered as Snape began his lecture. “I swear I begged the Sorting Hat to sort me into Slytherin, but it wouldn’t listen to me.”

“Why Gryffindor, of all houses, though?” Draco whispered back irritatedly.

“I told it not to, but—I don’t know, it was being difficult and I just wanted it all to be over with at that point and sit with you guys.”

“You should’ve at least gone to Ravenclaw instead!” Draco raised his voice.

“Mr Malfoy, if you don’t intend to keep your mouth shut you are welcome to be expelled from this class,” said Snape. ”Ten points from Gryffindor.”

“That’s not fair!” Ron complained. “Malfoy—the other one—was the one talking loudly!”

“Another ten points from Gryffindor, now be quiet.”

From the other side of the classroom, Harry scoffed.

“Do you have anything to say, Mr Potter?” Snape asked.

“No, sir.”

“That’s a pity, I expected more from such a famed student. Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Hermione’s hands shot up, already to no one’s surprise, but Snape ignored her.

“I don’t know, sir,” said Harry.

“Tut, tut,” Snape sneered, “clearly, fame isn’t everything.”

Peter knew his name wouldn’t get called anyway, so he didn’t bother raising his hands and just started answering the question. “They’re generally used to make the Draught of Sleep, a powerful sleeping potion just below the Draught of Living Death, but using the right proportions, I found that you can also use it to concoct a toxin so poisonous that not even a bezoar can save you when you drink it.”

Snape’s eyebrows rose in shock. The atmosphere in the classroom suddenly turned cold. “And how did you come about this discovery, Mr Malfoy?”

Peter gave a side-glance to Draco, who had sunk into his seat. He then realised how much trouble they could get into if he revealed this particular story to the class.

He took a breath. As long as he doesn’t reveal specific details, they should be safe. There weren’t any laws against underage potion experimentation, were there? He met Snape’s eyes, who seemed to be staring into his soul. They held eye contact.

“Well, after balancing the magical compounds of the two ingredients, I figured that if I only mixed a fraction of the infusion of one wormwood into a gram of the powdered root, the charges would still cancel out, but the effects would be much stronger.”

He didn’t specifically say what fraction of wormwood would be needed, and judging from Snape’s fixed stare, that was apparently enough comfort for the two of them. No wizard student was going to figure that out.

He also definitely didn’t reveal what he and Draco did with the toxin to prove his hypothesis. Peter broke eye contact with the professor and inwardly shuddered. The tragic memory of Felicia, their old house cat, will forever leave a bad taste in his mouth.

“You,” Snape said in a deep, resonant voice, “will not be speaking to anyone in this class unless _I_ personally address you, and you are to talk to me after today’s lesson. Fifty more points from Gryffindor for talking out of turn. Hopefully by now you’ve all learned your lesson on when to open your mouths.”

The hairs at the back of Peter’s neck stood up, and he felt the cold magic emanating from where their professor was standing.

“But sir, I have Defence Against the Dark—”

“After class,” Snape said with an air of finality. With that, he turned around and carried on with his lesson.

Great. He managed to get two separate detentions on his very first day. He especially did not look forward to this particular one.

-oOo-

It’s been several minutes since the class ended, but it felt much longer. Peter had walked into Snape’s private office and was asked to sit down as Snape stood behind his desk. He obliged and subsequently engaged his professor in an intense staring contest for the rest of those time.

He was starting to think this detention wasn’t too bad up until Snape started talking.

“What prompted you to… experiment… with this specific potion.”

“I’m not sure, sir. I guess it was just a common potion to drink in our house. We have all the recipes for it so I decided to play around with them.”

“Potions is not something to be played around with.” Snape towered over Peter, wand now at hand. All of a sudden Peter wasn’t so sure of his physical abilities.

Peter cowered in his seat but his tongue evidently wasn’t fazed. “To be fair, you did say that potion-making is both a science and an art form. You’re _supposed_ to experim—”

“Why did you kill that cat?” Snape interrupted.

“Cat—What?”

“Don’t play dense with me, child. I know what you did.”

“Felicia? How did you—”

“Answer the question.”

It was Draco’s idea, but he wasn’t going to reveal that. Although, come to think of it, Peter wasn’t sure how he could keep that secret anymore. This maniac in a school full of children can apparently read minds.

“I’m just more of a dog person,” was all Peter could answer.

That caught Snape off guard.

Peter’s fist did too. Snape must be a huge fanatic over cats because Peter’s senses went to overdrive and he couldn’t stop himself from swinging.

As soon as his sucker punch hit Snape in the jaw, he bolted for the door, only to find it locked. He pounded on it, but as he expected, no one answered.

He stepped back and prepared to break himself out, but with a quick side-glance he realised that Snape wasn’t going after him. Peeking from behind the desk was Snape’s unconscious body sprawled across the floor. There was a pool of blood accumulating on the rug he was laying on.

Peter hastily ran over to him and lifted his head up from the floor. There was no visible head wound, to Peter’s immense relief, since he didn’t know the first thing to do if there was.

Instead, the blood was coming from Snape’s mouth, which was now lacking a significant number of teeth. Peter knew he had to stop the bleeding somehow to prevent blood loss, but he didn’t know a single spell on blood clotting. He looked around the office for any ideas.

Snape’s face was growing paler by the second so Peter decided he didn’t have much time to be choosy. He settled for using his socks as a makeshift gauze, stuffing them into Snape’s mouth. Slowly, he the put the professor on his side so that he doesn’t choke on anything.

Stepping back, Peter wasn’t pleased with his what he saw, but he had to go quickly if he wanted to catch the remainder of Defense Against the Dark Arts. He held the door handle firmly and with one strong pull, the lock broke and the door swung open.

That was easy.

He should’ve ran across the halls and bursted into Quirrell's classroom by now, but instead he found himself glued to the floor, still in Snape’s office.

“Oh, this sucks.” He pressed his fingers onto his temples and paced with his eyes closed, deep in thought.

_I can’t just leave Snape alone. Not in that condition._

His foot caught a low brick step on the floor and he stumbled forward, forcing him to open his eyes. He had paced over to the fireplace.

_Of course! I’m such an idiot._ He grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the flowerpot on the mantel and threw them into the firebox.

Loudly, he exclaimed, “The Hospital Wing.”

Green flame rose up. Peter ran over to Snape’s body and quickly dragged him into the fire. Together, they were transported to the infirmary.

It was empty, likely since school had just started and no one is supposed to be injured just yet. Peter settled Snape onto the nearest bed and removed his socks from the bloodied mouth, shoving them into one of his robe pocket. He then ran over to the nurse’s door and knocked loudly.

Not waiting for an answer, he was off dashing through the hallway before Madame Pomfrey even got to answering her door.

-oOo-

Unbeknownst to anyone, old invisible blue eyes watched as the young boy rounded a corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank Azuthlu/MyBear for beta reading this entire story so far.


	6. Secrets

It turned out that Peter didn’t have much to miss in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Quirrell hardly said anything of substance to the class, and when he did, barely anyone understood him.

“H-he-he-hel—hello, c-class,” was how he started.

In front of Peter, two Ravenclaw students were whispering to each other. One was a pureblood named Terry Boot, the other was an unfamiliar face.

“Is he trying to tell us something?” asked Terry.

“I think he is attempting to speak, but his stutter is causing him to fail miserably.”

“Boys, he’s clearly beatboxing,” added another to their left. “My muggle father does it a lot.”

Peter leaned forward and whispered to them. “I think he’s trying to summon a dark magical creature.”

A tough looking girl sitting in front turned her head towards them. He recognised her as Mandy Brocklehurst from the Sorting ceremony.

“I think he’s telling you all to shut up,” she hissed.

With that, Peter shifted his attention back to Quirrell. He was still struggling to continue on with his long sequence of stutters. Apparently, the best school in Britain had someone who couldn't talk to a group of first years to teach them how to fight evil. Peter was extremely underwhelmed.

The powerful smell of garlic emanating from his turban definitely wasn’t something to be yearning for, either.

Regardless, Quirrell was the least of his worries at the moment. He was still a little unnerved about what happened during his detention with Snape. And now, he couldn’t shake the feeling that some insidious force was hiding in the classroom with them.

Scanning the room for the source of the tingling sensation in his head, he caught sight of Harry and Ron looking at him suspiciously. He chose to ignore them, not wanting to attract any more attention for the day.

“Professor Quirrell?” Ron raised his hands out of the blue. “Since this class is about defence, don’t you think we should learn by actually _doing_ things?”

Quirrell stiffened, as if he was still processing the fact that a student just spoke to him.

“Why y-yes, of course.” He frantically looked around and pushed his high desk aside to make some space at the front, causing a stack of books to fall over.

Howls of laughter filled the room as Quirrell struggled to put the books back in place. There were a clutter of empty vials and scattered parchment around the high desk, so after a while, he gave up and just shoved the books up against the cramped shelves. A red tome still managed to fall over and land back on the desk.

“A-alright, class,” he announced as he turned to the class and dusted himself. “Why d-don’t you all grab a partner and c-come here to the front. W-we’ll take turns practising a s-s-simple dis- _arming_ charm.”

Forgetting about the Ravenclaws in front of him, Peter turned around aware that Hermione Granger was sitting behind him.

“Wanna be partners?” he asked, smiling cutely—or at least he thought so.

“Very well,” she said, standing up. “Though, I should warn you: I haven’t practised this particular spell last night since I had no one to do it with.”

They walked to their spot on the newly emptied space on the floor.

“That’s why you suddenly disappeared last night?” Peter asked in mirth. “You were _practising_?”

“I had to make a good impression for the professors, didn’t I?” She stopped and faced him squarely, wand at hand. “I just didn’t expect someone to bring this activity up today.” She gave Ron a dirty look, but quickly stopped herself once Quirrell began speaking once again.

“T—the i-incantation is…” Quirrell pointed his wand at a Ravenclaw student and said: “ _Expelliarmus_!”

The wand flew off the student’s hands and into Quirrell’s; a move Peter had seen his parents do to each other countless times whenever they got into an argument. It wasn’t anything new.

“Fair enough,” Peter said, “this should be easy.”

Right as he turned his attention back to Hermione, she had already finished saying her incantation. His wand flew out of his hands and clattered to the floor next to her feet.

“Oh,” he said in surprise. “Wow. First try. Very nice. Good job.”

Hermione was beaming as he walked over to pick his wand back up for him.

“Thank you very much,” she said with a curtsey. Peter politely  _snagged_ his wand away from her fingers.

“Alright, my turn.” Peter bounced on his feet. “You ready?”

“Ready.”

He pointed his wand at hers and yelled.

“ _Expelliarmus_!”

Nothing happened.

“ _Expelliarmus_!” Peter shook his wand and tried again. “ _Expelliarmus_!”

“Okay, stop, stop, stop.” Hermione held out her hands in front of her. “You’re supposed to swish and thrust your wand.”

“What?”

“Like this.” Hermione demonstrated the wand movement and disarmed Peter again. He groaned as he ran for his wand once more.

“That’s ridiculous,” Peter whined. “Professor Quirrell didn’t do that.”

“Wand movements are only there for beginners like us to practice on,” she said. “He doesn’t need them anymore, since he’s got the essence down. You, on the other hand, couldn’t even levitate a feather.”

“ _Couldn’t even levitate a feather_ ,” he parroted in a high voice.

“Honestly,” she said, crossing her arms. “I’m trying to help you out!”

“Fine,” Peter snapped. “Let’s get this over with.”

They faced each other and got into a ready stance.

“ _Expelliarmus_!” Peter said with a swish and thrust.

Hermione held on to her wand, and Peter’s shoulders slumped.

“I did feel a little tug,” she reassured him. When she didn’t get a reply, she continued, saying: “Well, you’re not the only one struggling.”

She was right. As Peter looked around, almost every student in the room looked just as dejected as he felt. Of course, almost everyone except Harry Potter, who was grinning in triumph; his own wand in one hand and Ron’s in the other.

Peter scoffed and snapped his head to face the other way, over to where Quirrell was trying to explain something to Neville. His head tingled harder, making him grab his hair with both hands.

A red tome on the high desk behind Quirrell instantly caught his attention. The longer he stared at it, the more he was convinced it was the source of his discomfort.

“Peter?” Hermione asked concernedly. “Are you okay?”

“What could be in it?” he wondered.

“In what?”

The clock tower bell rang, signalling the end of class.

“A-alright, everyone,” Quirrell announced. “S-see you next c-c-class!”

Peter briskly shook his head and turned to Hermione.

“Thanks for the tips!” he said. “I’ll work on them.”

At once, he grabbed his knapsack and left the classroom.

He had no class for the rest of the day and no homework was assigned so far. He was free to do anything he wanted. With the red tome in mind, he decided to stay behind.

He sneaked behind an empty suit of armour and watched as the other students walk past him. As more students began to walk by too close to where he was hiding, he resorted to covering himself up completely and just listened for the footsteps to pass by.

“What are you doing?”

Peter jumped in shock and hissed. “Hermione! What are you doing here?”

“I just asked you the same question.”

“Er,” Peter looked around, then leaned in to whisper in her ears. “Okay, this is going to sound weird, but I think Professor Quirrell is hiding something.”

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. “Why would you think that?”

“Because… I can… I get these senses whenever I’m in danger, and it was practically screaming at me during the whole class.”

Hermione looked dubious. “You can sense danger,” she said slowly, “like how a horse can sense an oncoming storm?”

“No, no. It’s more like…” He couldn’t think of anything else. “Yeah, a horse before a storm.”

The classroom door opened and out came a timid Quirrell. He was quietly blubbering like a scared child, almost as if he was talking to somebody—or himself.

Peter caught a glimpse of the red tome through the narrow door opening, still lying on the desk. He felt his senses tingling once again, and he hid deeper into the shadows, imagining himself shrinking smaller.

“Right,” Hermione mused sarcastically. “So, you think Professor Quirrell is going to try and kill us.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Look, I’m going to sneak into his classroom to check on this book. It’s this huge red one on his desk. I think there’s something bad about it.”

“Your horsey-sense told you?”

“Will you stop calling it that?” Peter peeked his head out to see Quirrell going down the stairs, presumably heading towards the Great Hall. “Are you coming?”

“No.” Hermione said shrilly. “Snooping in on the teacher’s stuff is against the rules and can possibly get you expelled. I’m not letting you go in there.”

She blocked Peter from getting out.

“You won’t tell on me, will you?”

“I will if I have to.”

“Guess you won’t, then,” Peter said as he crawled up the wall over Hermione and dropped himself behind her, all in a matter of seconds. “Once you see this book, you’ll know what I’m talking about and you’ll be the one begging _me_ not to tell on _you_.”

“That doesn’t even make sense—Wait.” Hermione’s face became pale white. “How did you—?”

“Duty calls. Questions later.” Peter crept across the hall and pressed his back against the wall beside the classroom door. Quirrell forgot to close it, so all he had to do was slip in. Hermione followed frantically.

“You were on the wall! I’ve never read about any wizard doing that.”

“Not all magic can be found in books, Hermione,” Peter said offhandedly, still checking whether anyone is watching them. “And I happen to be a very powerful wizard.”

“Are you some sort of spider-human hybrid?”

Peter ignored her and sneaked through the entrance.

“Peter!” She hissed. “Stop this, right now!” She made a grab for his arms, but he immediately pulled away.

“Be quiet!” he said under his breath. “If I get caught, you’re getting in trouble with me.”

Keeping his back to the wall, he edged towards the high desk where the red tome was situated.

Hermione stayed under the doorway, frozen in fear.

“We should go,” she said in a wavering voice.

“Starting to believe my horsey-sense now, are you?” Peter gave a slight chuckle. “You know, my brother and I used to sometimes sneak out of the Manor in the middle of the night to do whatever. We’d race on our brooms, play Purebloods and Muggles, chase down some unicorns...

“And every time there’s a monster nearby, I can sense them right away, and we’re able to get out safely before they come any closer. All in one piece.” He gave Hermione a brief yet confident look. “As long as you’re with me, you’ll be safe.”

“But we’re not allowed here,” she whispered loudly. “This is _illegal_.”

“We’re in a classroom, Hermione.” Peter finally reached the desk and made close inspections around the book. “Students like us come and go here all the time.”

“Not when there’s no supervisor!” Once she realised Peter wasn’t going to stop, she stomped her way to the desk. “Not when—when we’re alone with a dangerous book on dark magic!”

“Who said it’s on dark magic? Maybe it’s about...” Peter discreetly opened the red tome to examine its contents. “... vampires... and werewolves.”

Hermione looked over Peter’s shoulder and grabbed the book from him to take a look at it.

“ _This_ is what you’ve been worried about?” she scoffed.

“I don’t get it. I just realised my senses aren’t tingling anymore.”

“Not anymore, huh? Well, that’s just convenient.” Hermione huffed.

“I’m serious!”

“Honestly, if he really was hiding something, don’t you think he would have locked the door? Or at least kept the book hidden?” she stated, shaking the red tome in the air to emphasize her point.

Peter groaned exasperatedly.

“Ugh!” Hermione dropped the red tome back onto the desk loudly. “I can’t believe I let you pull me into this!”

“Let’s just go,” Peter said as he ran his hands through his hair. He walked towards the door.

“Oh no, you’re not just going to walk away from this.” Hermione was hot on his heels.

“What are you gonna do? Tell on me?”

Hermione’s red face made it clear that she understood why she couldn't tell anyone about this. She was now a clear accomplice, considering she was holding the book herself. Peter continued walking.

“No, but I won’t tell you my secrets to casting spells.”

That made Peter stop on his tracks. Given his struggles throughout the whole day in all his classes, the deal seemed promising. Slowly, he turned to face her. “You have secrets?”

“Oh, yes I do,” she said, crossing her arms. “And it seems like you could really use some of them.”

“What do you even want from me?”

“A fifth to a gram.”

“A what?” he asked incredulously.

“I was working on the equation for the potion you told us about earlier in Potions.”

Blood drained from Peter’s face. “And?”

“And I’ve concluded that a gram of wormwood to five grams of powdered root of asphodel is what you need to make the potion stronger. Am I correct?”

“Erm, no,” Peter said, relieved yet surprised she would even bring it up. “That’ll make the reaction stronger because it’s the least balanced mixture, but it’s not going to make the potion more potent.”

“What could it possibly be then?” Hermione moaned. “There’s no way you can make something more potent just by changing its proportions. You must’ve added some other ingredient.”

“Nope.” Peter smirked; he didn’t blame her for being curious.  “There’s a way.”

“What is it, then?”

Peter pursed his lips. “I'm not telling anyone. Not you, not Snape. No one.” He was sure even Draco didn’t have a clue what it was. “If you figure it out, fine, but I won’t be a part of it.”

“Give me a hint and I’ll show you this secret chamber I found under our common room. It’ll be great for practising.”

“When did you find this?” Peter asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Last night when everyone was asleep.”

“Isn’t that against the rules?”

“Not if you don’t get caught,” she said indignantly. She looked down and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Besides, I couldn’t sleep.”

He sighed and laughed silently. A secret chamber under the Gryffindor Common Room. Who would’ve thought?

“Fine, I’ll give you a hint, and you show me this chamber.” He leaned into her ear and whispered, “Rational numbers can go over one.”

Hermione’s eyes widened as she watched him walk out.

-oOo-

Madame Pomfrey furtively pushed the trolley of medical potions back to the storage room, trying to make the least amount of noise so as to not wake Severus up. He had been bedbound for two days now after initially waking up with slurred speech and a serious case of internal bleeding in the brain.

It was a miracle that she was able to treat him so swiftly. Acting any second later may have been detrimental for him. Now, he needed as much rest as he could get if he wants a proper recovery.

As she stashed the vials into their respective cupboards, she frequently glanced in his direction to make sure he remained unharmed. Whoever did this to him was dangerous, yet they still brought him to her. A conscientious culprit. She couldn’t help but wonder who it was.

A shifting of bedsheets broke her train of thought, and she turned her head back to catch Snape struggling to get out of bed. She hastily put down the vials she was holding and staggered towards Snape’s bed.

“Stay down, Severus!” she practically screamed. “You have a concussion!”

“Where is Albus?” he asked bluntly.

“If you would just stay down and let me check on your condition first.” She pushed Snape down to the bed and ran some diagnostic charms. “You’re a lot better now but you still need to stay stationary for a while.”

“I need water.”

“Of course.” Pomfrey conjured a cup filled with water and handed it to Snape. “Do you remember who did this to you?”

“No.” Snape began to slowly lift the cup to his lips, but he instantly dropped it as soon as he tried to open his jaw. He groaned in pain, “Just get me Albus.”

“Be careful, your jaw is badly injured and your teeth just finished regrowing.”  With a flick of her wand, the spilt water returned to Snape’s cup.

She immediately went straight to the fireplace and called for Albus. His face emerged in green flame.

“Albus!” she shouted, “Severus is awake and is asking for you. He says he doesn’t remember what happened.”

“Thank you, Poppy,” Dumbledore said, “I’ll be there in a second.”

The face in the green flame disappeared, and Pomfrey stood up and turned around to see Snape massaging his jaw.

“My mouth tastes like socks,” he said.

-oOo-

“Tell me, Severus. What do you really remember?”

Dumbledore watched Snape’s lips purse, the dim light of his office making the young professor look aged and worn. He seemed more conflicted than Dumbledore had ever seen him, and he’d had a very complicated life.

“Do you have something to tell me?”

“Peter Malfoy,” Snape replied. “He is dangerous. Not just to the students here at Hogwarts, but possibly to all of Wizarding Britain.”

Dumbledore looked grim. “Why?”

“I’ve looked into his mind. The things I saw…and heard...” Snape grimaced, and Dumbledore was certain it wasn’t from the round of palliative potions Madame Pomfrey made him drink earlier.

“There is this one memory I saw before I became unconscious,” Snape said sotto voce, “It frightens me.”

“What did you see?”

Snape took a deep breath and looked around the office.

“The Pensieve,” he said, pointing to it. “Can I?”

Dumbledore gestured him towards it. “Show me everything you saw.”

Snape pressed his wand to his forehead pulled out a string of white light. He walked over to the Pensieve and stirred the memory into it. He made eye contact with the headmaster and without a word, they entered his memory of the boy’s mind.

The Pensieve transported them to a large untidy bedroom filled with open books scattered along the floor. There were folded parchments stacked at the foot of a dishevelled bed and Grodzisk Goblins posters hanging across the walls. A house-elf was picking up robes dispersed throughout every corner of the room.

What caught Dumbledore’s attention was the work table being illuminated by the afternoon sunlight shining through the massive window next to it. It was full of scrolls containing several series of various characters and symbols.

“This is the memory of him coming up with a stronger variant of the Draught of Sleep,” Snape said.

“Extraordinary.” Dumbledore looked down on the long list of calculations, some crossed out, some ending with totals that carried over to other equations.

It was Muggle Mathematics combined with Arithmancy, two things he had always considered mixing together but was never able to do so in a coherent manner. His eyes trailed along one of the parchments that eventually lead to an encircled solution.

“ _a = 99.8495_?” He tried to figure out how that worked, to make sense of it, but he found himself puzzled on the Muggle parts.

Distantly, he heard the inaudible shouting of two children, presumably Peter and Draco Malfoy. The door to the room suddenly swung open.

“Fine, I’ll do it myself!” A younger Peter entered the room holding a box full of powdered roots of asphodel on one hand and a bottled infusion of wormwood on the other. He angrily stormed his way to his work table and dropped the ingredients.

He tensed up when he caught sight of the house-elf in his room. “Dobby, I already told you I don’t want you cleaning my room!”

“Oh, I’m so very sorry, Master Peter Malfoy, sir. I just needed to get your laundry, and I didn’t want to disturb you.” Dobby started banging his head against the floor.

“Will you stop doing that?” Peter picked him up and set him on his feet. “Just ask me next time, all right? I don’t mind.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you very much.” The house-elf held on to Peter’s dirty clothes and disapparated.

Draco continued shouting from outside the room, and it seemed that he was now getting closer.

“Shut up!” Peter stomped over to the door and slammed it shut.

The door pounded from behind, followed by a muffled: “Wait until father hears about this!”

“What’s he gonna do,” younger Peter mumbled to himself, “ground me even more?”

He walked back to his work table and started scribbling rapidly on a new piece of parchment. He stopped just as Dumbledore began to peek over what was being written. He sat back on his chair and let out a disappointed groan, staring at his calculations.

Suddenly, his head perked up and he grabbed a new piece of parchment. He was writing rapidly again. Dumbledore watched in fascination until Peter straightened up in his seat, looked back and forth between two parchments on each hand, and breathed a long: “Yesss!”

He stood up, walked backwards, fell to the floor, got up, and began cheering and jumping in glee. He ran to the door and screamed: “It worked! Draco, I figured it out!”

As the scene began to fade, Dumbledore inspected the two parchments to see what the young Peter was celebrating about. Circled on both sheets were the exact same results, the one he saw from earlier, and the one he just wrote on that proved it: “ _a = 99.8495_.”

The scene shifted and they were now in a living room. Young Peter held a vial of black potion out to young Draco.

“A single drop of this can kill anyone?” Draco asked in awe as he took it from Peter.

“Well, in theory, it should put you into a sleep you can never wake up from, so technically, yeah.”

“Let’s test it, then.”

“We can’t.” Peter grabbed the vial away from Draco. “Not if we don’t want to kill anyone.”

Draco pointedly looked at the white cat sleeping on the couch. “How about Felicia?”

“No!” Peter said in horror.

“Come on, it’s just a cat.” Draco tugged at the vial from Peter’s hand, but Peter refused to let go. They held eye contact for a while.

Draco looked down and sighed. “Besides, maybe your little _numbers_ are wrong. How are you supposed to prove your hypnotamus if you don’t even confirm your conclusion or whatever?”

“It’s _hypothesis_.”

Draco step back and held his hands in front of him. “You’re the genius.” He then crossed his arms. “Come on. What was the point of all this if you’re not even going to use it. If anything, I’d say it’s your duty to carry out this task, since you’re the one who made it.”

“I’m not obligated to do anything.”

“Remember what father always says?” Draco added. He cleared his throat and spoke in a deep voice. “ _Duty, Honour, Purity! These three words dictate what you ought to be, what you can be, what you will be_.”

Peter rolled his eyes.

“Come on!” Draco pressed. He pulled out a bezoar and held it to him. “Here, just in case.”

Resigned, Peter took it. He walked over to sit on the couch where the cat was sleeping and stroked her back. “Hey there, girl. Look, I have something for you.”

The cat slowly opened her eyes to look at Peter, yawning as he rubbed her belly. She stood up to stretch and snuggled her head against Peter’s hands. “Atta girl, Felicia.”

Draco smiled warmly and knelt beside them. “Good afternoon, sleepyhead.” He stroked Felicia’s neck and nodded to Peter.

With a heavy exhale of breath, Peter poured the potion straight into the cat’s mouth. Slowly, Felicia laid down and closed her eyes once again. Her breathing noticeably became weaker and slower by the second.

Eyes wide open, Dumbledore slowly shook his head in disbelief. He turned to look at Snape, whose attention remained glued to the scene.

“She’s—” Peter felt for a pulse in her neck, then pressed his ear to her chest to listen for a heartbeat. “It’s still beating.”

“Uh-huh?”

Peter tried to wake her up again, but she didn’t respond this time.

“Try the bezoar, Pete!”

Peter clumsily broke the bezoar into pieces and fed them to their unconscious cat.

“It-it’s not working—Felicia!” He was now holding both sides of her face. “No, no, no, no, please wake up.”

“I took no part in this,” Draco said, face completely white.

Everyone present in the room remained motionless for a long period of time.

They stayed like that until somewhere in the house, a grandfather clock began chiming.

“I’m so sorry,” Peter whispered to the sleeping cat before placing her gently back onto the couch. Shaking, he stood up and grabbed the parchments of calculations from his room. He crumpled them and threw them into the open fireplace, along with the empty vial.

“I’m never experimenting with potions again.”

The scene changed once again, but this time, it was all black. The atmosphere was pregnant with suspense, making the littlest of sounds crystal clear, but absolutely no light came from anywhere.

“This is the memory that... unnerved me.” Snape said in a low voice.

“That previous one wasn’t it?” Dumbledore asked, fully alert.

Sounds of footsteps emerged, and they listened carefully.

" _We cannot…yet…_ " said a soft, familiar voice, " _…not before we take his body…_ "

" _… Master…_ " said a deeper voice, " _we must…before it overpowers…_ "

" _On with it, Baron…_ " the soft voice hissed impatiently.

A strange foreign sound filled Dumbledore’s ears. It was a long and soft mixture of a harmonica and the hoot of several owls. It went on for ages; high and almost musical.

Then, a new set of footsteps came and another man's voice called, " _Who…there_?"

Dumbledore hears a door slam open, followed by a loud gasp. It was quiet for a few seconds until the new voice angrily shouted, " _What…my son…calling the police …_ "

Next came the sound of a hard thud, followed by a woman's scream.

" _Richard_!" she called, then whimpered.

" _We need to hurry…Mast…_ " said the deep voice. " _We don't…much time…spare…_ "

" _Bring her…then_ ," ordered the soft voice.

The sound of whimpering got louder until the woman began to cry.

BANG! BANG! BANG! What Dumbledore assumed to be a gun had been fired off.

The soft voice yelled. " _Go…Baron_!"

" _Peter_!" the woman screamed. " _What have…done to my boy..._?"

" _Silence, woman…_!" the soft voice became a shrill hiss.

The woman’s screams got louder, only to stop abruptly.

A wet sound followed for several seconds.

" _Mary_? _Pet..._?" called the old voice. " _You bastard_ —!"

" _Diffindo_ ," ordered the soft voice.

Silence filled the dark room until the deep voice began chanting a long incantation.

" _…spiritus…orporis meus…res…tenetur…terra…usque…finem_."

" _Avada Kedavra_!"

" _Imp_ —!"

The Pensieve abruptly returned them to Dumbledore’s office, both of their eyes wide and their heartbeats racing.

“Voldemort.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - I realised that the Draught of Living Death requires other ingredients other than the two mentioned in the first book so I decided to just make the Draught of Sleep as an alternative potion. They are basically the same except the alternative puts more emphasis on sleeping.
> 
> Also, the “Duty, Honour, Purity” speech came from Douglas MacArthur's “Duty, Honor, Country” speech to the Corps of Cadets in 1962.
> 
> Thanks to Number1Penguin for beta reading this chapter!


	7. Outed

“The boy must be transferred to Slytherin,” Snape pleaded to Dumbledore. “I assure you; he will not cause any more trouble under my scrutiny.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Severus,” said Dumbledore, shaking his head.

Snape scoffed in disbelief and gave the headmaster an indignant look.

“You must understand, Severus,” Dumbledore explained. “All the horrors seen in your memory of his can only be rooted to one cause, and it’s wholly situational. I’ve always doubted that the boy was really Lucius’ son, and now it’s clear to me that I’m right. I _have_ spoken to the boy. I can see that he has a good heart.”

“He _struck_ me and _knocked_ me out,” Snape spat.

“And I watched him carry you to the infirmary himself. He easily could have just left you in your office and I would have brought you in myself regardless, but it wasn’t like him to do that.”

Snape looked as if he had many more to say, but he decided not to say them.

“I do not take pleasure in seeing a student striking his professor,” Dumbledore said, “or anyone striking anyone for that matter, but Peter is a good boy, just in need of good company. I know Minerva is more than capable of providing him that, so there are no transfers being done.”

Snape closed his eyes, gritting his teeth as if deciding the best argument to use.

Dumbledore didn’t rush him and instead mused out loud: “Granted, that _was_ a pretty good punch thrown by an eleven-year-old—“

“I will not have that boy sleep in the same room as Harry Potter every night for _seven years_ ,” Snape said flatly. He trudged to face the nearest wall with closed eyes, his back to Dumbledore.

Tiredly, Dumbledore conjured a wooden chair and sat on it, deflated. He held his gaze on Snape, waiting for him to continue.

“Already, I have seen the hate brewing between the two, and I can only predict that something terrible is bound to happen if we do not act. I am not willing to wait to find out. Not again.”

Hate. The word hung like a curse in the pregnant air. Such a strong word to be used in regards to children. But more than once, he had already made the mistake of underestimating the power such emotion. Just as anyone is capable of love, anyone can hate just as fiercely. Massaging his forehead, the decision became clear to him.

It was then that Dumbledore broke the silence.

“We’ll move him to the Ravenclaw Tower. Flitwick can rearrange his schedule to be in line with the students there,” Dumbledore said. ”The Sorting Hat does not make mistakes, so he will remain a Gryffindor to Hogwarts. To everyone else, however, he is now a Ravenclaw.”

“Thank you.”

“Do keep in mind that if something _is_ to happen, this may not stop either of them from hurting each other. It could just be delaying the inevitable.”

“Yes,” Snape said. “But at least I will be able to sleep at night.”

-oOo-

“ _Your father and I are_ very _disappointed in you, my dear son_...” Peter read aloud, mimicking a high posh voice. He then groaned. “Honestly, this letter is making me want to jump off this tower.”

“Peter!” chided Hermione, though she didn’t bother to look up from her work; she was already used to his sarcastic remarks.

“I’m kidding. It’s not like there are any windows to jump out of from here,” he said in a struggle, likely shifting on his couch. “Such a nice secret chamber you found, though. It’s all damp and cold and dim. Can’t wait to fill it with bodies.”

Hermione chose to ignore that. His sense of humour was not perfect, but neither was hers. Besides, something about him made her feel safe and secure, though she could never put her finger on it.

“... _caused a tremendous controversy among the pureblood community_ —hey, that rhymed!” Peter continued reading as Hermione rolled her eyes. “ _For centuries, the Malfoy family_ —”

 “There’s no way your mother talks like that,” she said, turning her head to look behind her. Peter was now lying upside down on the couch as he held his mother’s letter in front of him.

“Yep, she does. She even screws her face like this,” said Peter, making a face, “and her eyebrows would turn into a seesaw, like so.”

He attempted to make his eyebrows dance and gave her a smug smile, no doubt impressed at his own demonstration. Hermione only rolled her eyes.

“Reminds me of my mom,” Hermione said. “We should get them to meet someday. I’m sure they’ll get along well.”

Peter frowned and his face turned serious, making Hermione wonder if she said something wrong.

“Enough about our mothers…” he said suddenly, sitting up. “What are you working on?”

Hermione turned back to what she was doing, trying to remember where she had left off.

The secret chamber had quickly become Hermione and Peter’s default spot for whenever they had nothing else to do and nowhere else to be. They did need to make plans to renovate this place if they plan on spending more time in it, though. The place had been forgotten for centuries and it showed.

For all it was worth, Hermione was quite happy with their situation since the past three days. Peter was a pleasant company, and sure, the library had a vaster variety of books on topics she could actually use for schoolwork, but she found herself intrigued by accounts such as _The Remnants of Forgotten Magic_ , as well as _Merlin’s Magical Discoveries_.

They initially couldn’t read them since they were all written in an unfamiliar language.

“Is that Russian?” Peter had asked.

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s Old English,” she had said.

“Nah, it’s got to be Russian.”

Fortunately, she found a quick spell to translate simple blocks of texts into English.

They weren’t the things crowding her mind at the moment, however.

Peter had walked over to where she was sitting and had peeked over her shoulders. She could now feel him breathing against her neck.

“Can you stop that?” she said suddenly, snapping her head towards him.

“Stop what?”

“Stop watching me like I’m doing something interesting.”

“It _is_ pretty interesting to see you do it all wrong.” He took the paper from the table in front of her to inspect it more carefully.

“What do you mean?” she stared daggers at him, immediately standing up to take the paper back from him. Since he was a good inch taller, though, he was able to raise it above her head, just out of each. He continued studying it as he stated:

“First off, you’re not supposed to be doing chemistry, Hermione. We don’t use moles to measure magical ingredients.”

“What am I supposed to use, then?” she asked irritatedly.

“Well, I haven’t experimented with potions for a while, but I’m sure you convert ounces to tonics. There are four different types of ingredients, as you probably know. Powders, fluids, organs, and magic—each have their own tonar mass that you can divide from whatever the ounce of the ingredient is.”

Hermione was suddenly scribbling notes on a new piece of paper. She didn’t expect Peter to repeat any of these once he realised just how much he was revealing to her.

Peter continued. “Then, you use the Arthurian Principle to determine the reaction type and the product of your mixture. After that, you can substitute your results into Le Fay’s Law to estimate the potency, which you can use to—Hey! Stop that! You’re not supposed to know these until fourth year!”

He dropped the paper he was holding and grabbed Hermione’s notes. She was quick to hold them away from him, however, and proceeded to guard them with her body.

“And you are?” she said loftily.

“No, but I trust myself more than I trust you!” Peter easily pried her arms open and grabbed her notes, only to rip them into pieces.

“You don’t need to be such a—such an _arse_ about it!” she spat, feeling her face burn up. She felt tears welling under her eyes, but she fought them back, refusing to show him just how insecure he made her feel.

“Woah,” Peter snickered, completely oblivious to her gloom, “language, Hermione.”

She tried to shove him away, but she only ended up pushing herself off him. She huffed and crossed her arms, facing away from him.

He sure was heavy for his size, she thought. 

And she sure was weak.

Peter only laughed at her antics, making her blood boil under her skin, her childish self tempting her to scream at him. The glare she sent his way made him stop, at least.

He sobered up and walked closer to her, making her assume he was going to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. He didn’t.

“Alright, I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just—you’ll need to learn some Arithmancy before you’ll be able to solve this problem. Really, it’s nothing to be upset about. You just came into the wizarding world; you can’t honestly expect to know everything about it, do you?”

She breathed in, and then out. In, and out. In, and out. There was no reason to snap on him now, was there? He was her only friend.

“How about we take a break,” Hermione mumbled to him. “Let’s get out of this chamber for once.”

“I don’t know.” Peter’s smile disappeared. “I’ll just stay here. You can go out.”

Hermione carefully looked at him, feeling the sudden shift in the air.

“Is there anything wrong?” she asked.

“No, no,” he said, walking back to the couch and dropping himself onto it. “It’s just…I don’t want to be out there any more than I need to.”

“Why?”

“Because everyone in our house hates me,” he said quietly.

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is. I know so,” Peter said. “Potter is turning them against me. All of them, even Longbottom now.”

“How about your brother? Why don’t you just go to him?”

“Yeah,” he said with a heavy sigh. “I could do that. At least he came back to his senses and is now talking to me again.”

Hermione’s heart sank at hearing that, though she didn’t understand why. She should be happy for him. They were family, after all. Maybe she was just being selfish.

“But I can’t just keep going to the dungeons all the time, you know?” he continued. “The rest of the Slytherins probably hate me just as much as this house does. They’re all saying I’m a traitor or some other crap; I don’t want my brother getting caught up in all that.”

Hermione was at a loss for words. She, too, had been nervous to leave the safe confines of their albeit dark chamber, but there had been a hope in her that Peter would be the one to convince her anyway. It didn’t occur to her until now that Peter was just as anxious as her.

Feeling the responsibility fall onto her, Hermione touched his shoulders.

“Come on, let’s go,” she said resolutely. “We can forget about our housemates. No worries.”

She faced the exit to the common room and held her hand out behind her towards Peter. He looked at it, looked at her, and then looked back at it. With a contrived smile, he took it.

-oOo-

Peter knew it was stupid, but he felt wrong whenever he touched Hermione. It was as if he would contract some muggle disease the more and longer his skin was in contact with hers. He instantly regretted taking her hand.

Quickly letting go of it, he resorted to following her on the way to the trap door that led out to the Gryffindor common room.

“Where exactly are we going?” he asked conversationally.

“Nowhere. Everywhere,” she glanced at him behind her shoulder. “My first night in this huge castle, I found this secret chamber. Now, it’s been four days and we haven’t found anything else since! We can’t just hole up in here forever. There’s got to be more for us to discover. Who knows, maybe we’ll find something we can invest more of our time in besides hiding from everyone.”

“Hermione,” he called after her as she lifted the trapdoor to peek whether someone was in the common room. Light came through the door, revealing more of the chamber than it had seconds before. Peter noticed the bloodied socks he had put in Snape’s mouth peeking out from one of the pockets of his robes. He shoved it back down just before Hermione turned to catch a glimpse of it.

“Yes?” she asked.

“Er, nothing. I forgot,” said Peter, trying to remember what he was going to say. All he knew at that moment was that he didn’t want anyone finding out about his bloodied socks. Not even the house-elves. It was evidence for what he did that terrible day, and he had been trying to put that all behind him. There was no way anyone would trust him after they found out. Even if it was Hermione.

He somehow needed to find some way to destroy it. The fireplace wouldn’t work, he found out. They were charmed to give off heat, but not enough actually burn anything. There really _were_ many things to discover about Hogwarts. That luckily led him to remembering what he was about to say.

“Oh, yeah,” Peter said. “Our lunch period will be over in under an hour, and I’m kind of excited for our first Flying class. How about we just do this later after all our classes are done.”

Hermione sighed.

“Later I’ll be writing my Potions essay for Professor Sprout, as you should, too.” Hermione lifted the trapdoor all the way out, satisfied that no one will catch them sneaking out. “You know full well how much harder her assignments are compared to Professor Snape’s.” Probably so that students get discouraged from going around eliminating professors they dislike, Peter thought. Hermione lifted herself up and out she came. She peeked her head over to look back down at him. “If we do that, we’ll have even less time to explore the castle before the curfew starts.”

“We can always sneak out,” he suggested, looking up at her.

“And risk getting detention?” she asked shrilly. “I think _not_. You already have enough as it is. Keep that up and you’ll get _the talk_ with the headmaster. Get more talks with the headmaster, and your parents will be sent a letter. Get more letters sent, and you’ll be forced into a parent-teacher conference. Get enough of those, and you’ll either be in suspension or community service. That’s unpaid social work, Peter! Get even more of _those_ , and depending on the severity of the case, you might get expelled!”

“Wow,” Peter muttered sarcastically, “I better learn how to behave _real_ quick.”

“It’s a good thing you haven’t gotten any detentions since the first day,” she said, smiling and resting her chin on her arms as she lay on the floor, still looking down at him.

“Yeah.” Peter nodded guiltily. “Things are starting to look up.” He remained conflicted whether he should tell her about Snape. On the one hand, he’d be more honest with her. On the other, she would probably lose all of her respect for him. Their friendship would no doubt be over.

“Yeah, but you still have that detention with Professor McGonagall up until Friday.” She stood up and motioned for him to get up. “Come one!”

“True,” he muttered under his breath, finally following Hermione up the trapdoor and then closing it. “It’s a good thing she had the presence of mind to separate me from those other kids.”

“I think she just doesn’t want you fighting Harry again.”

Peter sighed resignedly at that. It had been extremely hard for him to stay out of trouble as he resisted the urge to do otherwise. It was whenever Harry is present in the same room as him. The best he could do was block his existence out of his mind.

He found himself going through the motions of each class, which wasn’t too hard as he found himself already ahead of most of his classmates, barring practical activities.

Despite Hermione’s help, he still lagged behind when practising magic. It pained him to know that he couldn’t even compare to Harry Potter’s natural prowess.

For that reason, he made sure he remained ahead with all of the theoretical topics he could get his hands on.

The shock of waking up with a new family in a new world had been terrifying to him, if what mother said about him crying for a full month was true. Still, his early memories told him that he found shelter in learning about the new world. After that, it wasn’t hard for him to keep up all of his readings, especially whenever there was a visitor in the Manor and his father decided it be best for him to stay hidden for however long they stayed there. During those days, he would be prohibited any form of contact with anyone, even with Draco.

In fact, being restricted to a deserted section of the house was what most of his early memories consisted of.

The opening of the Fat Lady portrait broke Harry from his thoughts. In came a group of third-year Gryffindors consisting of a girl and two identical red-haired boys. The Weasleys and their lady friend.

“Oi, looky here, Fred,” George nudged the side of his twin with his elbows. “It’s Peter Malfoy!”

“Oh, blimey, it _is_ Petey!” Fred grinned maniacally, which couldn’t possibly mean anything good. “Just the guy we were looking for!”

That definitely did not bode well for him, Peter thought.

“Please show us your ways in how you maimed the mighty Snape!”

“On your very first day of meeting him, too!”

“Thanks for that, by the way. You’ve made this school year so much better since.”

Together, they chanted, “The Boy Who Maimed!”

Peter wondered how they were so sure it was him and why they were asking him about this just now.

“What’s going on?” Hermione interrupted.

“Honestly, I don’t even know,” the third-year girl said. “They’re always like this when Gryffindor is about to lose a lot of house points.”

“House points are _so_ last year, Angelina,” George said, rolling his eyes. “Harry Potter is here now and Peter Malfoy has joined the party! It’s the perfect year to have fun!”

Peter’s head was starting to hurt.

“Snape just woke up,” Fred finally explained, pointedly looking at Peter. “They haven’t announced anything yet but they will soon so you better tell us your story quick before he locks you up in his dungeon for the rest of the term.”

“Did you duel him?”

“Was it a surprise attack?”

“What’s his weakness?”

Peter stood frozen. Naturally, he would’ve been apprehensive at the thought of Snape waking up, but the twins just made him feel uncomfortable at the moment.

When he didn’t speak, George patted him on the back. “He’s saving it for the big show, isn’t he?” George nudged Fred with his elbows again. “Don’t worry, everyone’s already waiting for you.” He lifted Peter up and carried him on his shoulder.

“Hey, what are you doing to him?” Hermione yelled. “Bring him back down!”

“Don’t worry,” Fred said. “We’re just going to the Great Hall so that Peter can explain himself.”

Hermione looked at Peter pitifully as he was being carried out through the Fat Lady portrait. Peter just shrugged.

Annoyed at his indifference, Hermione stomped after them. “You don’t even know if it really _was_ Peter who put Snape in the hospital!”

“We all know everyone’s been suspecting it’s him. No one’s just brave enough to say it.”

“Such Gryffindors, we are,” Fred chuckled.

Hermione’s ears burned red.

Once they arrived at the Great Hall, they were met with less enthusiasm from the crowd and more gossip whisperings.

George put Peter down on the table nearest to the door and looked at him expectantly. From a quick look around the room, it seemed as if the whole school was there surrounding him, each looks varying from suspicious stares or fearful glances to angry glares. Apparently, only the Weasley twins found the news about Snape amusing.

He uselessly noted that there were no teachers present in the crowd. All of them were likely either visiting Snape in the Hospital Wing or were summoned by Dumbledore to a meeting, no doubt talking about him.

“So,” Ron sneered. ”What do you have to say _now_ , Malfoy?”

Peter stayed silent, knowing full well what this was. Next to Ron, Harry had his arms crossed, looking at him unforgivingly. Hermione, remaining at the Great Hall entrance, looked confused and worried. Beside him, he heard Fred and George snickering, goading him to speak. Everyone in the room had their eyes fixed on him. All around him, there were judging eyes, hungry for confirmation of his crimes, or perhaps looking for just a single wrong move from him. The deafening silence rang in his ears.

“He’s in so much trouble now,” someone in the crowd murmured.

Indeed, he knew full well what this was: a public humiliation.

As it turned out, the whole school wasn’t here after all. He recognized each and every face in the hall. All of them were familiar to his house’s common room. All of them wearing red and gold scarves. All of them, Gryffindors.

Why he agreed to being carried over one’s shoulder to this, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he now hated Gryffindors. Sure, strong evidence pointed to him being the one responsible for Snape’s condition, so it made sense for them to blame him. They were all correct in their assumptions so far. Regardless, he hated the fact that they were so quick to place their suspicions on him.

He should have known that this was bound to happen. The whole school body had been peering into the hospital wing door window, trying to catch a glimpse of where Snape lay rest. The whole mystery of Professor Snape’s fortunate mishap was beyond intriguing to the uninformed mind.

And as the twins so eloquently said, everyone had suspected him from the start, even if didn’t say it out loud. They feared what he was capable of, knowing he could take on a much older and skilled wizard. How _could_ they fare against the boy who put the most feared professor to sleep for three days?

Cowards.

Very well. He’ll give them a reason to _genuinely_ be afraid of him.

“You really want to know?” he yelled to the crowd, which promptly became silent. In his pocket, he grabbed the dry bloodied pair of socks he’d been keeping for days now and dropped them in front of his feet; on the table he stood on, for everyone to see. He pointed at it menacingly. “ _That_ is how I did it!”

Everyone gasped. Without another word, Peter stepped off the table and walked out of the Great Hall amidst everyone’s sudden buzzing. He didn’t hear any of what they said, because as he was about to step out, he saw Hermione’s face. Her face full of shock, hurt, betrayal…

And the worst of all…

Fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm purposefully writing Peter as a git right now, but that's because he grew up as a Malfoy for over five years! What else can you expect?
> 
> Thanks to Number1Penguin for beta reading this chapter!


	8. Image

Hermione stood frozen at the Great Hall entrance, not quite sure what to think. What was she supposed to do? It seemed from the hubbub of the crowd around her that everyone had numerous things to say, but she stayed speechless. Peter did, too, and his face betrayed an imperceptible expression.

He took a reluctant step closer to her, but she dashed away before he advanced any further. The noise from the Great Hall faded away as she ran, her mind clouded by overwhelming emotions in a perpetual state of confusion. Usually, she could easily make sense of things; even her magical occurrences were explained by her being a witch. Now, it was as if her mind was being pulled thin searching for ways to rationalise the sudden bombshell that shook her still-developing worldview.

Peter, her friend, the one and only person she had begun to trust and warm up to since her parents, wasn’t who she thought he was.

Her legs burned from the excessive amount of strain she was exerting, but her mind remained elsewhere. Specifically, on the sight of the dry bloodied _socks_. What in the world happened with that? How _did_ it happen? _Why_ would that ever happen? To a _teacher_ , too!

Peter’s face during his little speech did nothing to tone down her fright. It was so full of malice and spite—just pure evil. They were expressions she would never have expected from the face of the boy she’d spent much of the past three days with. Three days that now seemed to stretch forever. Her heart broke that he kept such a massive secret from her for that long. She almost wanted to go back home.

“Alright, I’m sorry,” he had said earlier. “It’s just—you’ll need to learn some Arithmancy before you’ll be able to solve this problem. Really, it’s nothing to be upset about. You just came into the wizarding world; you can’t honestly expect to know everything about it, do you?”

And he was absolutely right, which frustrated her most of all.

She had spent all of her lonely life trying to get ahead of everyone else because she felt she had no other choice. No one wanted to be friends with her, and when some did approach her, it was only to ask for her help in their homework.

Of course, she helped willingly; taking great pleasure from the act, in fact. Knowing that she was better at school than her peers became her sole source of confidence within her low self-esteem. It was the reason why she always strived to do her best academically, and why she had accepted the fact people only used her for their own benefit; no one besides her parents would ever care about her.

For her whole life, being knowledgeable was her way of interacting with people. She helped others her age, and she impressed those older than her. She was shunned by some for being too clever, but at least she was praised by others all the same.

That was what she had planned to do in Hogwarts, as well. She was made aware, then, that many like her were also coming from non-magical families, meaning she wasn’t too far behind.

Even so, she was still concerned by the fact that there were those born around magic who had eleven years of experience over her. Thus, she read, as she always did. She read and reread her first-year books all summer, trying to catch up to _those_ people.

It was a relief to learn that no children, pureblood or muggle-born, were allowed to practice magic until they reached Hogwarts. Seeing them struggle in class raised her spirits so high that she managed to tone down her bossy attitude a tad that day. She had proven to herself, yet again, that she could be better than everyone in class.

She was let down when she saw the reactions of her classmates, however. Rather than receiving the usual praise she had come to expect, everyone slighted her for doing better. It was as if she insulted them with her hard work paying off.

It was only Peter who appreciated her, which was fair enough. She found she was grateful enough for his company. He even became her regular class partner for the past three days. Just like everyone else, he struggled to perform magic, but he was more than willing to accept her help. He didn’t care that she was a muggle-born who could perform magic better than him, he just wanted to learn and improve.

Granted, they didn’t gain much progress since they started working on his magic, with him still having to put way more effort and focus into his spells to make them work, but there was progress nonetheless.

In no time, (and for the very first time in her life), Hermione had someone she could call a friend. He had the same drive to learn as her, she found his affinity for books endearing, and the way he tackled problems was admirable. He definitely exceeded her in terms of theoreticals. His understanding of magic ran deeper than she ever thought to consider from reading the books.

Just why did he have to turn out to be so…evil?

“Hermione!” Peter called behind her as she entered the Fat Lady.

“Leave me alone!” She didn’t bother to look at him.

“Please, talk to me!” Peter’s pleading voice was charged with emotions.

She groaned and whirled around sharply. “Was that true? Were you really the one who hurt Professor Snape?”

“W—” Peter paused, scratching his head but continued walking towards her. “Yeah, but it wasn’t like what you think it was.”

Hermione spun back on her heels and stormed for the trapdoor, heading to their secret chamber. Well, only _her_ chamber, now, she thought to herself. She struggled to lift it up since there was no handle to hold on to; usually, it was Peter who opened it for her. This delay allowed him to catch up.

“I mean, I did knock him out.” Peter followed her in, forgetting to close the trapdoor behind him. “But I never meant to hurt him. It-it happened so fast I didn’t even have the time to think!”

“So he attacked you first, then,” she inquired, stomping her way to her desk.

“No,” Peter hesitated. “He was talking to me—about the potions I mentioned in class—and he went—this, er—” Peter took a deep breath. ”My _senses_ freaked out and made me react rashly. I didn’t even know I punched him until he was unconscious on the floor.”

“You _punched_ him?—” Hermione sputtered indignantly, eyes staring wide at him. “—because he asked about your _potions_ _experiment_?”

Peter looked pale. “It wasn’t—”

“Why would you keep something like that from me?” she shrieked, feeling her face burn with fire. “You attacked a teacher! That’s a serious offence you can really get expelled for!”

Peter stood still with his arms awkwardly pressed close to his body. His mouth sputtered silently, but no words came out.

She turned her head sharply and grabbed her parchments on Peter’s stupid potion equations, crumpling them in her fist. “This,” she said, throwing it at him, “does not belong here! And neither do you!”

A pained expression coloured his cheeks, his eyebrows furrowed pleadingly. “Hermione…”

“I can’t believe I’ve been wasting my time on this cursed equation,” she wailed. “What was I even supposed to do with this?”

Peter remained motionless, aghast at her sudden fury. Thinking back, later on, even she surprised herself with her rage.

She poked a finger at his chest, her eyes starting to blur from the tears welling up in her eyes. “Who _are_ you?”

“Hermione…” Peter muttered more to himself, stepping back. His face was scrunched with guilt and regret. “Please…”

She wanted to ask him why; to let him explain himself. But seeing him standing there, looking so innocent and imploring, it only made her convulse in agitation even more. She expected him to either be shouting back or to have walked out by now—but his patience compelled her to lose her composure.

“Just get out!” she screamed, grabbing the quill and inkpot on the table behind her and throwing them at him. He shielded himself with his arm and reared his head back, letting the items bounce harmlessly against him.

“Hermione…” his voice cracked even though it was barely a whisper in comparison to hers.

Now more furious than ever, she grabbed the whole table and tried to lift it. It was then that Peter seized her by the arms and pulled her away from it. Perhaps because of the current circumstances, or because this seemed to be the first time he’d touched her, and she suddenly felt trapped and violated.

“Let me go!” she screamed as she tried to struggle out of his grip. His arms felt like steel rails, making her feel frail and powerless all of a sudden.

He let go just as quickly as he grabbed her, though, and stood a good distance in front of her. He wiped his hands against his robes right away and looked completely lost with his face burning red.

But she was the one crying, sniffling as she wiped her tears with her own robe sleeves. She felt so conflicted that she couldn’t bring herself to trust this person in front of her any longer.

Subsequently, she heard footsteps stepping onto the creaking ladder that led from the common room.

“Mr Malfoy,” Professor McGonagall’s voice sounded from the trapdoor entrance. Hermione stiffened, looking like a deer in headlights at being caught in this secret chamber with the school’s new delinquent boy. “If you would follow me to the headmaster’s office.”

Hermione slowly looked to where the strict professor stood. Her face showed a hint of sympathy directed at her, but she held her stern look. “We will talk later, Miss Granger.”

Peter had no choice but to follow McGonagall. Slowly, he trudged behind her as they walked towards that Fat Lady.

He didn’t even care that she found out about his and Hermione’s secret chamber. He was still confused at everything that just happened, and he doubted he would be welcome in it anytime soon. With a final look over his shoulder, Peter saw Hermione looking at him, hurt still evident despite their growing distance.

Her face made his heart sink to his stomach. He had never caused anyone so much pain before, and it wounded him to know she was right to be angry at him. Her figure, framed by the trapdoor’s threshold, soon disappeared to the floor as he exited the common room.

He continued following McGonagall despite the occasional glances to his sides for a possible exit. He just wanted to disappear: to be swallowed by the old stones that made up the castle, or to be abducted by some spirit looking to punish his actions.

Nevertheless, they walked in silence. This made him let out a quiet snort, realising how similar this was to his first morning at Hogwarts. The prospect of this becoming a frequent routine for him hit him like a train, and his humour was immediately replaced with a frown.

Please don’t let that be the case. He was starting to hate this place more than he hated Harry Potter, and that was saying a lot since he had to physical shake his head to dismiss the thought of him again. He was like a parasite to Peter’s mind, always getting him riled up as if an insect had crawled under his shirt. His red-headed friend was quickly rising up his hate list, too. Just thinking about their smug faces in the Great Hall made his eye twitch.

He was so deep in his thoughts that he didn’t even realise that they had entered Dumbledore’s office and were now standing in front of his desk. It was such a familiar setting at this point that he didn’t even notice the silver instruments that decorated the circular room. With a prim nod to Dumbledore, McGonagall left the two of them in the room.

“We meet again, Peter,” Dumbledore said brightly.

Peter only grunted in response, sitting down on the couch, just as he did the first time he went here. It felt just like yesterday, except this meeting felt heavier and seemed more serious rather than casual for some reason. He surmised it was likely because Dumbledore stayed behind his desk this time.

At this point, Peter only now realised the reason he was summoned here for. His heart started to beat just a little faster and he prepared to defend himself in case Dumbledore decided it wasn’t worth the trouble to keep him alive anymore. He began fidgeting with his fingers, wondering whether Dumbledore could read minds just like Snape.

He must’ve heard Lucius mention something about Legitimacy or the likes, but he hadn’t been paying attention to be sure. He’d been preoccupied with a book on cosmic stones at the time. In retrospect, he thought that maybe he should have listened then. He decided to do so from now on—that is, if he somehow survived this.

No doubt, Snape already revealed to Dumbledore that he was the one who knocked him out. Still, he hoped that by not being another witness against himself, it would at least provide him some immunity. Besides, what would he do if Dumbledore found out that he was supposedly You-Know-Who’s heir? Or that his father had ordered him to literally become Harry Potter’s enemy?

He couldn’t possible duel Dumbledore—even levitating a feather remained a struggle for him. Maybe, he could make a run for it; the headmaster’s old age was bound to have taken a toll on his speed and agility. The desk could act as a buffer between them, so long as he was out before the old man had the time to react.

Keeping his eyes low, Peter prepared to lift his feet against the desk to launch himself backwards. Before he was able to do so, however, Dumbledore spoke softly.

“I’m sure you’re aware of the reason why I called you here today.”

Peter nodded curtly, continuing to look at the desk where Dumbledore’s hands calmly rested on top of each other. There were no sweets to be seen, Peter noted with only the slightest curiosity. It turned out that he liked them.

“I defended myself from Professor Snape because he was assaulting my mind for memories,” he said flatly.

Dumbledore nodded and sat back on his chair, seemingly more relaxed now. “Exactly.”

Peter’s eyebrows quirked. “What?”

“As you’ve probably noticed, Snape hates all Gryffindor students,” Dumbledore said lightly, “so let’s just consider it a minor setback for being in the best house in Hogwarts.”

“Best house…” Peter chuckled quietly. “Yeah, right.”

“You disagree?”

“Uh, no, sir. You’re right.” Peter lifted his fingers to his mouth, about to bite his nails as he used to do a few years back, but he willed them back down and shifted on his seat to sit up straighter. “Gryffindor is the best. Hermione thinks so, too.” Even though she clearly should be a Ravenclaw.

“I don’t think you believe that.”

He slouched back down and mumbled: “You said I should.”

“I said the Hat was right in Gryffindor being the best house for you,” Dumbledore said. “But it didn’t consider if it would be best for everyone else.”

Peter’s face turned quizzical, and he instinctively looked at Dumbledore in the eyes. He immediately realised his mistake and snapped his head back down, but it turned out that he needed not to worry. Dumbledore’s eyes were _twinkling_.

“So, you’re moving me?” He looked up at Dumbledore again, eyebrows raised so high he could feel his forehead wrinkle.

“That’s the plan of action we’ve settled into.”

“What about Snape—Professor Snape?” Peter asked with furrowed eyebrows.

“He’s recovering,” Dumbledore said simply. “And he agreed to forget about everything that happened on the first day of class, so long as you are no longer a Gryffindor.”

Peter couldn’t help but smile triumphantly. “O-okay. Where do I go?”

“Ravenclaw, of course.”

Peter grinned as he slowly shook his head in disbelief. He and Hermione would do great in Ravenclaw. Then he realised she wouldn’t be included in the transfer, and she probably wouldn’t want to be transferred with him at this moment, anyway.

As Professor Flitwick, his new Head of House, led him to the Ravenclaw Tower, Peter wondered if the common room also had a secret chamber underneath it. He decided he would have to check once everyone was asleep.

It was when he entered his new dorm room and Flitwick left him that his senses start to tingle, _hard_.

-oOo-

Needless to say, they didn’t explore the castle that lunch period, or day, or ever, Hermione thought to herself. Peter never came back to the secret chamber nor the common room after Professor McGonagall took him.

When Professor McGonagall returned, she spoke to Hermione about the chamber, wholly disappointed at her for not being informed about it sooner. The conversation ended with Hermione in tears and McGonagall awkwardly trying to calm her down.

Then, as if the day couldn’t get any worse, Neville just had to fall from his broom in their first Flying lesson, leaving the students without a supervisor for the remaining period.

“Look what we got here,” Draco said as he darted forward to snatch something out of the grass. “It’s that stupid Remembrall Neville’s gran sent him.”

He raised it above his head and squinted at it with one eye against the sunlight.

“Give that here, Malfoy,” Harry walked up to him, Ron behind.

“ _Wow_.” Draco scowled nastily. “Back to being self-righteous, aren’t you? You finally succeeded in setting up my brother so you’ve returned to your holier than thou, hero of the world, golden boy complex—well, guess what, Potter, you’re nothing but a proper dickhead.”

Harry scoffed. “We didn’t set him up.”

“Harry’s right! He told everyone himself!” Ron said derisively. “And you should watch your language, Malfoy. It’s unbecoming of a pureblood. You’re starting to sound like a—”

“Was I talking to you, Weasel?”

“You just are, you twat.”

“Colossal idiot.”

“Piss stain.”

“Tosser.”

“Absolute wanker.”

Hermione spectated, massaging her headache as Draco and other Slytherins faced off against Harry and Ron. How their vocabulary became so colourful all of a sudden, she didn’t want to know. She had wished that Peter was here to help her stop the fight, but she soon deduced that he would sooner be the one to instigate it than back her up.

“Just give the ball back,” Harry ordered.

“Nah.” Draco stepped back, idly tossing the Remembrall in one hand. “I think I’ll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find.” He smirked and looked to the woods behind him. “How about—up a tree?”

“Give it here!” Harry yelled, but Draco had already sped off to the sky on his broomstick.

“You’ll have to stop me, Potter!”

Harry grabbed the broom and zoomed after Draco. Hermione only groaned as the other students began to cheer of boo either of the two _children_. They sharply turned to face each other, seemingly shouting at each other although their voices got lost in the wind.

Suddenly, Harry looked livid and shot straight towards Draco, who dodged him by a hair’s breadth by jumping off his own broom and hanging on to it with one hand. Some of the crowd around Hermione whooped at the spectacle the two were performing, some gasped in fear. Amidst the struggle, Draco dropped the Remembrall with his other hand.

Harry immediately dove for it, and Draco promptly followed after righting himself back on his broom. Harry caught the Remembrall mid-air and pulled his broom up to stop the fall. The rest of the Gryffindors whooped and clapped at his stunt, though Hermione herself almost had a heart attack.

Said heart attack threatened her life, even more, when she shifted her gaze up to see that Draco was still falling fast, having positioned himself improperly before diving. He was holding on to the broom for his dear life, but he didn’t seem to have control of it. All Slytherins called for his name but were too frozen to do anything about it. She definitely couldn’t have done anything either; all she could do was watch in horror as the skinny pale boy sped to his inevitable death that was the grassy Quidditch Pitch field.

Out of nowhere, Hermione heard something zip past over the students' heads, making the dragged wind blow their hair to the front of their faces and their robes billow forward. The next thing she knew, Draco disappeared from the sky and everyone had gone silent.

The students looked at each other, confused, dismayed. Then, just as unexpectedly as the zip that went past them, Peter and Draco returned swiftly to the crowd, both on their own brooms. Draco had a fierce smirk on his face while Peter was glowering.

The urge to call for his name and demand an answer for where he’d been collided with the rational part of her wanting to leave.

Instead, Peter flew straight to Harry.

“You almost killed my brother!” Peter came up to Harry’s face.

Harry scowled and leaned forward as well, trying to assert dominance. They both stood on their tippy toes.

“He bloody didn’t,” Ron spat behind Harry. “That git was trying to kill himself, hanging off the broom with one hand like that.”

“For Merlin’s sake, Weasley, shut your mouth,” Peter said. “No one ever talks to you but you’re always still vomiting stupid words with that ugly mouth of y—”

“Step away, Malfoy.” Harry pulled out his wand and pointed it at Peter, who blinked looking at it. “Both of you, but especially you.”

Peter padded around his robes, presumably looking for his wand, but he found nothing.

“Look who forgot he’s a wizard, now.” Harry pressed it against Peter’s chest. “Why the long face, Malfoy? Are you scared now that you realised you’re bollocks at magic?”

Peter sneered and slapped the wand away from him, causing it to fly several feet to the grass beside them. Harry yelped and recoiled his hands back, shaking it. Several wands, both from the Gryffindors and the Slytherins, suddenly drew out, all pointed at each other.

“Peter, stop!” Hermione shouted.

“What, you’re going to send us to the Hospital Wing like you did to Snape?” Ron said to Peter.

Lavender Brown giggled from the side. “Are you going to choke us with your socks, too?” she called, though she shrunk behind the crowd when Peter glared at her.

“Harry Potter! Misters Malfoy!”

Never had Hermione been so glad to hear Professor McGonagall’s voice right after being scolded by her. Her heart practically leapt to her throat.

“Everyone, put down your wands!” she said, her own held firmly in her hands. “Back to the castle, all of you! You too, Mr Weasley!”

She turned to the three boys she named and began reprimanding them.

There were little moments in life that stuck with Hermione since she was a young child. She vividly remembered being carried in her father’s arms as a baby. He sang her Wiegenlied while she slowly fell asleep. She remembered playing with the car’s roll down window and her dad telling her to stop from the front seat. She remembered the first time she fell on a bike and her mother came running to her, fussing about all her scratches. She remembered sitting on a swing alone, reading a new book as she ignored all the other children laughing and running around the playground. These were the memories that seemed to be etched in her mind forever.

Now, walking back to the castle with the rest of the students as she watched Peter’s face, looking surprised to see her just then, Hermione knew that she was going to remember this moment for a long time.

Another image from her past to remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to Number1Penguin/PenguinofProse for betaing this chapter!


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